The Wrong Choice
by hadleyandbrandon
Summary: Callie is trying to come to terms with what has happened to her. It doesn't help that she's both attracted to and frightened of her new foster brother, the golden boy Brandon. But he's losing his perfect nature, and secrets are starting to surface. Now a monster from Callie's past is back and stalking her and the happiness she and Jude have found with the Fosters is in danger.
1. Chapter 1

**_Tell me what you think. There is a pretty intense storyline to come that doesn't follow the tv show exactly, but I tried to stay true to the characters. I can't write smut (sorry) but I'm going to try and sate all of our Brallie longings, but with class and it'll come later on._**

* * *

_"Callie." It's like he thinks that if he says my name enough times, I'll listen to him. He doesn't have to worry. I listen. His voice is so addictive; I don't really have a choice. "I do worry about it. All the goddamn time. Someone, someone who's hurt you, is back and I'm really worried. Not about what he can physically do to you. He can't get to you physically." He doesn't seem to fully believe it, but I don't call his bluff. "I'm worried about how he's screwing with your head." He pauses, contemplating the next train of thought, and soldiers on. I'm captivated by the movement of his lips, and his half-lidded eyes, weary from all the food he's consumed in the last twelve hours. "You were gorgeous when you came here, Callie. You still are, but it has nothing to do with the fact that I can see your bones. It's you. And I get you're fucked up," The words seem to cause him physical pain, but we both know they're true. "But you've got to trust. Trust me."_

_The last boy I trusted and cared for screwed me up for life. I want to trust Brandon so badly, and I already care for him ten times more than the other foster brother. He'll screw me up much worse, because I feel for him so much more._

_"I can't." The tension is gone from his shoulders and he pivots to face the wheel again, silent. A wall is up now. I feel like we're going in the same circle, over and over again. He gives me another reason to care for him, and I realize too late the repercussions, and have to pull back. Self protection wins out. Over and over. It's annoying and exhausting and I want to fall out of the car and race for home and collapse in the shower and let the hot water take my breath away instead of him. The pattern has to end some time, because I don't think either of us can stand this much longer. I can sense it will end soon, but how that'll happen, I don't know. I do know that if he hurts me, if he turns out not to be the person I think, it'll kill me, as melodramatic as it sounds. I have my breaking point, and it's an invisible point that shimmers in the air before me, darting in and out of view. "Please take me home."_

* * *

**_Just a little teaser. Most of my chapters are over 3000 words, so don't worry. And this scene comes much later on in the story. I just figured the story and writing gets stronger a few chapters into it, so I didn't want you guys to read the original first chapter and think the story sucks. So read up to chapter six before you decide to give up on me (: I promise, you'll get into it if you make it through my first few chapters_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Brandon POV in a bit. I'd love feedback so I can work on improving. Brandon was harder than I expected, since the show doesn't really show much of his life outside of piano and family. More to come-I swear it gets better!_**

_Callie_

Wyatt pulled up to the house at ten thirty. The light in the bedroom I shared with Mariana was out, which didn't surprise me. Since the party a few weeks ago, she'd been laying low. In all honesty, I think Lexi was her only good friend, and now she had no one. I felt bad, but then I also felt bad for Lexi. The few times I had seen her, she'd been quiet and introverted, beaten down.

Stef was true to her word. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, she was on her feet at the kitchen table, smirking fondly at me.

"That boy got you home a half hour early? He's a keeper."

I guess he is. I mean, the date was everything a teenage girl wanted. We went to a movie, he held my hand, and he kissed me in the dark of the theater. He made me laugh over the seafood feast he paid for with money he himself had earned. When he kissed me right before I left his car, it was like he was mimicking an actor in a romance movie.

I made my way upstairs, stopping to peek in on Jude. He was sleeping flat on his back, as usual, and his breathing was loud and nasally. I smiled at his still form, before registering Jesus. He sat up in bed, shoulders hunched, staring at the screen of his iPhone. He shut it off quickly, but not before I saw the image of Lexi illuminated in the darkness of the room.

There was a moment of awkwardness as our eyes made contact, and I withdrew from the room with a murmured apology.

I passed Lena and Stef's room next. Lena was laying in bed, her hair loose and wild, watching what looked to be an episode of Law & Order on the family iPad. She caught my eye and laughed.

"Guilty pleasure. You have a nice date?" Lena looked mildly curious.

I replied, "It certainly wasn't as much fun as your night." She smiled warmly and waved me to bed.

I stopped by the bathroom to brush my teeth and let my hair out of the bun it'd been in all day. I tore off the t-shirt I was wearing, wrinkling my nose from the smell of fish that clung to the fabric. _Shouldn't have ordered the crab cakes._ I proceeded down the hall in my tank top, eager to crawl into bed and celebrate the survival of one more week.

The wooden floorboards were making a ruckus as they creaked under my sneakers, and I bend down to remove them before I wake Mariana up. I'm really not in the mood to deal with the cranky sourpuss she would surely be.

Balancing on one leg and struggling to stay upright as I wrestled off my right shoe, I lift my head. And there he is.

Brandon's sitting facing away from me at the keyboard in his room. His hands move over the keys fluidly, although I hear nothing since he has his earphones in. Further into the room, I can see a messy, unmade bed with the pillow rumpled and creased in a corner. Brandon's hair is disheveled and his shirt lies on the floor.

I watch his head bob with what I assumed was the tune, and as he tilts his head, I see his eyes squeezed shut in concentration and his lips pursed, his tongue darting out to wet them.

His jaw clenches and the muscles in his neck are extremely pronounced. I try to stop myself, but I can't stop staring at his smooth, tan back. The movement of his hands causes his entire body to tighten and tense, and his shoulders flex. His shoulder blades are coated in a wiry muscle that is so distinctly masculine; I can't breath for a second. His chest tapers down to a slim waist and two dimples that perched on either side of his spine, right above the waistband of his black briefs. His arms are so perfectly sculpted, but not in a bodybuilder kind of way. It's as if just the normal movements of his day-to-day life resulted in this.

I hear rather than see as he finished the song, for the stool ceases its quiet creaking and his breath lets out in one great exhale. I grasp my shoes with sweaty hands and creep into my room. I don't bother to change out of my jeans before climbing under the covers. Mariana moans and shifts in her sleep, but luckily she doesn't wake.

I lay in in the dark, listening to him move around his room. I hear him walk to the bathroom and hear the shower begin to run. I curse myself for acting like a dumb little girl, who's just seen a shirtless guy for the first time.

Brandon is my foster brother. It was practically incest to even look at him the wrong way. I'd told Talya a while back she had nothing to worry about and I meant it. I mean it.

My phone's screen lights up with a text message from Wyatt and I respond within a matter of seconds, not caring how desperate it looks. I need to focus on Wyatt. He is the guy I know I was meant to be with, at least for now. Brandon is my brother. My brother. He's nothing special.

God forbid the past repeats itself.

_Brandon_

I wake up to someone pounding on the bathroom door. I groggily wonder who the hell it is waking up the whole house on a Monday morning and shuffle out of bed. Probably Mariana. I have a test today. And—fuck, I forgot to study.

I manage to pull on some clean pants and stumble out into the hallway, praying that for once the bathroom will be mercifully open.

Mariana has beaten me to the door. "Can I please go first Mariana? I was up late practicing and I have to study for bio." My voice is cracking.

"No. I had dibs on the bathroom to go _first_, but," She raises her voice. "Callie butted in before me. There's no way you're going to get in before me too."

"I didn't know Mariana!" The water shuts off and there's a tugging in my chest as I fight back a snicker at Callie's shrill comeback and the look on Mariana's face.

We are both standing there, towels in hand, when Callie opens the door and exits. Mariana murmurs something snide and pushes in, while I am left face to face with Callie, wet from her shower and clad with just a towel. I avert my eyes as fast as I can and back into my room. I don't say anything and she only nods loftily at me before heading towards her room.

Her hair is damp and stuck to her cheeks and water droplets hang off her eyelashes. She looks so vulnerable, standing there in the hallway, and I instantly feel like hitting myself. I'm not a horny teenage boy who's struck silent by the sight of a little skin. She is my sister, same as Mariana. I shut the door smoothly and run my hands through my hair.

As I pack my bags and do everything else possible to get ready before I shower, I laugh at myself. I'm acting like a character in a bad sitcom, forbidden lust and all. I shake my head and play a note on my keyboard. The ringing chime helps me focus. I have plans with Talya today, and I think of her strawberry scented hair and pink lips.

* * *

I failed the test.

Mr. Johns was grading them as we exited the classroom and I saw mine covered with red marks.

All Daryl had to say was, "Sucks to suck" when I told him during gym. He's the kind of guy you talk about football with or bring with you check out pretty girls at the beach. He doesn't have a lot going on in his brain.

As we round the soccer field, Tayla runs over to us with a pack of her friends and starts going on about some party. Not really my scene, as they all know.

"Brandon, seriously, all you ever do is sit in your room and play piano." Lissa starts in on me.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure he just jacks off every second he's not in school." Daryl pitches in.

"Shut up Daryl. But seriously, like your family's cool—especially Jesus," Lissa pauses to wave flirtatiously at my brother all the way across the field, "but you have zero social life."

Talya looks up at me and I groan internally at the look in her eyes. Whether I like it or not, I know I have no choice but to go to the party they are all talking about tonight. I gratify her with a smile and a nod. I hear Daryl make another joke at my expense and focus on my white sneakers, pumping my arms a little harder, pulling ahead of the group and letting the wind coming off the ocean douse my face. I run past the south side of the school, passing a dozen or so classrooms. I manage to catch a glimpse of Callie with some buff dude—Wyatt—leaning over a shared desk.

I turn my gaze back to the sandy soil and push forward. If the gym teachers don't give me top marks for the day, there will be a problem.

* * *

_Callie_

Wyatt's leaning over me, so close I can smell him, a mixture of sweat and cheap cologne. I shift away subtly and allow myself an inhale of fresh air. We're working on some project in History about England's rulers. Wyatt and I were stuck with Chelsea and Kate, two comically shallow and dim girls I see frequently around Talya. While I've been researching King Henry VIII and Wyatt's been working on our 3D model, they've been watching the fourth period PE class out the window. Every so often, one will squeal and they'll delve into gossiping, which they go at with frightening intensity.

I've just finished the page of notes on Katherine Howard when Kate stage whispers, "Chels, look its Talya! Oh, and Lis and Rach."

Chelsea sighs dramatically, "There's Brandon. Fuck, I literally hate Talya for dating him. Do you see his legs in those shorts? He's like so chiseled, it's not fair. "

I tune out the rest, rolling my eyes at Wyatt, who seems to have had enough. He forces the girls to leave their post at the window, and take over doing research at the computer. I step back, and face the soccer field, pulling out my phone as I go. Four new Instagram notifications. Score.

I am scanning the fields before I even register myself doing so, and I look to the right just in time to see Brandon disappear from my line of view.

His legs did look good.

* * *

I contemplated going for a bagel and some cream cheese, then, looking down at my thighs, settled for a few pretzels. Jesus and Brandon had demolished nearly the entire bag a few nights ago, watching some sort of reality television show that featured bitchy girls fighting over a grand prize.

Jude's sitting across from me at the table, munching annoyingly loud on carrot sticks, with his eyes glued to the screen of his PSP. I still didn't know where it came from, but I figure Lena or Stef bought it. I don't ask, since I already feel guilty enough about their complete and utter generosity. I am certain the check from Child Services does not cover half of what they've spent to make us feel comfortable. The iPhone in my pocket is a constant reminder of the money Lena and Stef have expended on me. I wonder if I'll have to give it back when we leave. I hope not.

I'm sitting there in the kitchen, just me and Jude, thinking, when my phone buzzes.

_party 2nite? u've only been 2 one nd that one suckd_.

A party. On a Monday night. That Wyatt wants me to go to. I type back "sorry, busy", but don't send the text. In all honesty, I'm not busy. I've been done with schoolwork for an hour and my plans for the night consisted of tv, family dinner, and fooling around on my phone. Jude would probably stay stuck to his video game, Jesus was no doubt out with Lexi, Mariana would definitely be going to the party, and Brandon was either in his room practicing or on a date with Talya. Even Stef was held up at the station with some DUI case, and Lena was out cold in their bedroom, sick with a stomach bug.

In other towns and cities, parties meant hanging around a pool or tv, playing games and sipping a beer if it was provided. Here, the alcohol seemed limitless, and I'm still shocked that the police were never called on Wyatt's raging party. I didn't feel like risking my probation, but the choice seemed inevitable. I roll up the bag of pretzels, hoist myself off of the stool, and start towards my bedroom to go get changed.

_U gonna give me a ride or should i walk? ;)_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Hey(: only 4 reviews so far- thank you to those that did!- if anyone in the fosters fandom is looking for a fanfic that will be considerably lengthy and with a lot of buildup, recommend this fanfic! Thank you Sam for the advice on how to improve on Brandon's POV and I would LOVE feedback from everyone else!_**

_Brandon_

By the time we get to the party, it's gotten out of control. Plastic cups are littered across the yard and the music is so loud I can feel it in my bones.

Aiden's house is in the more isolated part of town, and the nearest neighbor is the elderly, deaf woman a quarter of a mile down the road. Aiden has never thrown a party before, as far as I know, and he probably never would have if it weren't for Chelsea. She's been nagging him to throw a party on one of the many weekends his parents are away, for as long as they've been together.

I spot him on the porch, and taking Talya's hand, lead her through the masses of teenagers.

"Dude, you made it!" He slaps me on the back and leans in to give Tayla a hug.

"I didn't really have a choice. Quite the rager you've got going on here." I say.

"Right! But, I swear, if someone blows chunks in my house…" He is suddenly very alert, as if the thought hadn't yet registered that his house was bound to be destroyed. "Anyway, where've you been? Haven't seen a lot of you lately."

I start explaining the dilemma with piano lessons, but Talya grows bored quickly. I say a quick goodbye as she drags me across the threshold.

As Talya and I head to the kitchen, I look up the stairs to the second floor and see Mariana. She's nursing a red cup and flirting with three douchebags all at once. She's in the middle of flipping her curled hair when she catches my eye. I level a glare at her over the banister but keep walking. I'll go get her in a moment, when I won't be making a scene. I worry about her, especially after all the recent drama with Jesus and Lexi. She's easy to take advantage of at this moment in her life. If one of those asswipes lays a hand on her, I'll rearrange their face.

I wave away the beer being shoved under my nose, and do my best to relax and engage in conversation with the kids swarming around the kitchen's island. One boy goes right up to Aiden's fridge and stands there picking through the food, settling at last on what looks to be left over mac and cheese.

When I know five minutes has passed, and Kate is distracting Talya, I sidle out of the kitchen. I push through dozens of warm, sweaty bodies in order to get to the stairs. The music playing now is some trashy top 40 song you'd hear on 94.5. I squint, trying to see Mariana through the bad lighting and smoke, which stems from some stoners' joints. There are plenty of short, scantily clad girls on the landing, but not one of them is my sister.

_Fuck. Now she's going to get trashed again and Moms will be so pissed. Why didn't I just grab her and go?_

I stomp up the stairs, ticked off now at myself, and at Mariana for putting me in this situation. Normally, Jesus was in charge of reining her in and keeping an eye out, but it looked like the job was up to me. And I'd failed.

Luckily, I knew this house like the back of my hand. I'd been coming over Aiden's since elementary school and I knew there were only so many rooms she could be in.

Talya's probably annoyed by now. I keep going and begin checking all of the rooms on the second floor. The bathroom is locked, and a bystander tells me that a guy's in there puking his brains out. Nice. Aiden's sister's room is occupied by a loud couple you can hear going at it from down the hall. _Disgusting. _They sound like wild animals.

Aiden's room is empty. As I walk down the hall towards his parents' room, I pray I won't walk in on Mariana. Maybe she's had the good sense to go home. I push the door open. "What the fuck?"

I speak before the scene fully registers. Callie is sitting on the bed, next to Wyatt. They are kissing. He looks like he's trying to swallow her face and his hands are creeping down past her waist. From where I'm standing, she looks stiff and awkward. As soon as she twitches away from his descending hands even the slightest bit, I am moving. An instinct deep down is calling for me to tear him off of her, and I come so close to obliging.

The reasonable half just barely wins over and I stalk out of the room. I've never liked Wyatt, not since Talya told me how he'd used her. My dislike had evolved into hatred as I saw him using Callie the very same way, whilst he enchanted my moms and played big brother to Jude. He had a reputation for being a "bad boy" and Callie was known for her troubled past. Maybe she thought he was what she deserved. But I know she deserves much more than that horny piece of shit.

As I descend the stairs, the brief image of how he leaned into her, his crotch bulging, and his hands groping, is stuck in my head. I crush the empty cup that has somehow found its way into my hand. I find Talya quickly.

"Hey babe. Um, Mariana told me to tell you she's walking home with a friend. She left, like, a second ago. Where were you?" Talya acts nonchalant, but I can see the possessive curiousity burning in her eyes.

"Cool. I was actually just looking for her. Didn't mean to ditch you." I speak in clipped sentences and I know she can tell something is wrong. Say what you want about her, but she's as observant as they come.

Someone throws their arms around me just as she opens her mouth to respond.

"Hey! Bro, you look so sober! Have a drink!" It's Daryl and he's drunk off his ass and speaking exclamations, not statements. He shoves a full cup of beer into my hands and says, "Drink 'er up!"

I down it in a matter of seconds, and go digging for the good stuff, blocking out what I know is happening just above my head. One minute later, I'm back with a bottle of vodka from Aiden's dad's secret stash.

Daryl is wide-eyed. "Who knew Foster knows how to party?"

* * *

_Callie_

Wyatt was just about to get to second base when Brandon interrupted.

I had imagined that Wyatt wanted to introduce me to some friends at the party, maybe help me shed the reputation that's been following me around for the past few weeks. I would have been content to just sit and people-watch, laugh with him at all the drunken idiots. Instead, he took me to the master suite after only twenty minutes of being at the party.

I'm not gonna lie, he's a good kisser. I mean, I don't see fireworks and the experience is nothing more than above mediocre, but laying on the sofa watching reruns with Lena wasn't exactly a better alternative. Besides, Wyatt was the only one at our school I was actually friends with, other than my foster siblings and Jude, and I didn't count them. If making out with him kept him happy with me and our relationship, I would do it. I honestly had no one else.

He had started moving south and I had started growing sick of the whole situation. Right at that very moment, I heard Brandon's distinct voice. "What the fuck?"

I only saw him for a brief moment. His eyebrows were furrowed, trying to figure out what he was seeing. His hands were clenched and his entire was tense and still, like a string pulled too tight. His grey t-shirt was snug to his form and his jeans hung low on his hips. His mouth was slightly open. Worst, was his eyes. They were full of disgust. Disgust at what we were doing, or at the fact that his foster sister was acting like a whore. And he'd been so nice to me. He never made me feel like white trash, bound to go no where in life. At that moment, I felt like I had horribly disappointed him.

Then came the anger. As I heard his receding footsteps, I pushed Wyatt off of me. _What the hell had Brandon been doing snooping around anyway? Who is he to judge me? I'm sure he's done much more with many more people. I mean you just have to look at him to tell that girls have been throwing themselves at him since middle school. _

Wyatt wasn't perturbed at all, and tried to kiss me again, but after ten or so minutes of my unresponsive body, he seemed to realize that the mood was ruined.

Finally, he just said, "Well, maybe it's time to leave. You ready to go? This party wasn't as good as everyone said it would be?"

"How would you know? We've been up here the whole time." I smile to take the sting out of it and continue. "Yeah, let's go. Let's just make sure Mariana has a way to get home before we go."

The party had escalated. Now the scent of vomit was noticeable in nearly every room. Wyatt and I spent twenty minutes fighting our way through the house, covering the entire property. He didn't speak to me and failed to introduce me to the people who randomly reached out and stopped him to chat.

When we came to the living room, we found Talya, looking pissed off and bothered as usual. She flinched when she saw Wyatt, but waved me over. Only when I got closer did I notice Brandon slouching beside her. His eyes were bloodshot, and I could smell the vodka on his breath from a foot away. It brought back bad memories of my former foster dads, and I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. But I calmed down seeing his dark eyes focus on mine and the childish little grin he normally reserved for his moms came to his lips.

Talya cleared her throat and I looked at her. "He's really drunk." _You think?_ "His moms will keep him grounded for a month if they catch him like this. I'm not allowed in his room and they'd ask questions if they see me in the house. Do me a favor, Callie, and help get him up to his room?"

She was seething every second, but I knew she would rather ask for my help than go a few weeks without her prince charming to order around.

"How's he going to get home? He can't drive and I got a ride from someone else." I avoid saying Wyatt's name mainly because I'm not in the mood to deal with any more drama.

"I'll drive you. Tell your boyfriend to fuck off." She drapes on of Brandon's arms around her shoulders and starts to move him towards the door. He's leaning heavily on her, and I can see her struggling to stay upright. I don't offer to help though, and she doesn't ask. I don't think she wants me touching her boyfriend anymore than I want to.

I shuffle up to Wyatt, who has stayed quiet up to this point and just watched the scene unfold. "I'm going to go home with Talya, okay? I'll text you."

"Why are you helping her? She's a bitch." He's right. But I don't want Brandon in trouble anymore than she does. If he is grounded, he'll always be around the house and I really want to see him as little as possible after tonight. At this point, I'd ceased caring about finding Mariana. I just wanted to get home and crawl into bed.

"Look, I got to go. But text me." Question sucessfully evaded. I turned and make for the front door. Without Wyatt or Mariana at my side, I am not shielded from the odd looks I receive from nearly everyone in attendance.

Law & Order is becoming more and more appealing by the second.


	4. Chapter 4

**_I really, really am desperate for more feedback. Thank you so much to everyone who's favorited, followed and reviewed, and please spread the word! I want this relationship to have steady development. The characters are obviously not ones that are going to hook up after a month of knowing each other. FEEDBACK! oh and thank you to my "beta", emotionsovrflow. Haven't gotten to collaborate yet, since I was so eager to publish this chapter (: ignore the grammatical errors. _**

_Callie_

The car ride home was brutal. Talya sat at the wheel, eyes forward and mouth unmoving. Brandon had shotgun and he too was quiet. He seemed barely conscious and I kept my gaze on the thrumming blood vessel below his jaw to keep from freaking out. It was clear he was not used to downing the amount of alcohol he must have consumed tonight.

The ride was over in less than five minutes, and we pulled up to the house at a quarter after one. Talya's headlights were off and she and I did our best to be silent as we pulled Brandon out of the car. She left me standing there, his body pressed against mine, with nothing but a warning glance, and a hushed whisper. "Be careful."

I spent a moment considering if that was a threat, or just a reminder to not get caught. The revving of her engine brought me back to the present, and I started to move towards the house.

Brandon was all over the place. He seemed to have minimal control over his limbs and he staggered in a way that suggested he could fall over at any moment. His hipbones were rubbing against my ribs and his left arm dangled around my neck, with his hand brushing dangerously close to my chest.

"Brandon." I hissed and reached up to lightly slap his face. The glaze on his eyes seemed to clear and he looked down at me.

"Callie! Fancy seeing you here." He was slurring, but he said my name with such joy, I almost forgot his contempt for me.

"Shut up. We are both dead if you wake Lena and Stef. I'm going to help you up to your room, but you have to be quiet and walk lightly."

At least a portion of that seemed to get through the fog of alcohol and he distanced his body slightly from mine. I pried open the front door after soundlessly unlocking it, and tugged him in after me.

The journey up the stairs went better than expected. Brandon gripped the railing with one hand and clutched my arm with the other. His palm was warm and dry, and I could feel the calluses that came from hours of running his fingers over the ivory keys. It was cooler inside the house and the air raised goose bumps along my forearms.

Brandon remained relatively quiet as we passed Jesus's room. I peered around the doorway of his moms' bedroom. The lights were out and they were both facing the opposite direction, Lena's back nestled against Stef's front. I allowed myself a brief smile as Stef twitched in her sleep, but just as quickly became serious again. They'd be furious if they saw us. They'd gone easy on Mariana, mainly because the revelation of sex between Jesus and Lexi and Lexi's parents' reactions overshadowed her buzz.

We reached the end of the hallway within a matter of seconds, Brandon oddly agile on the noisy floorboards.

It's tempting to push Brandon into his room, be done with the entire thing, and go to bed. I'm not an idiot, however. He reeks of heavy liquor all over. His moms will know instantly in the morning what happened, and that he must have had help getting into the house silently.

_Talya is going to flip. _I enter his room, dragging him behind me with a firm grip. I relax a tad when the door is closed behind us, blocking out the sound of what has to happen next.

* * *

_Brandon_

I'm vaguely aware of being pushed down on my bed. _How'd I get here?_ _I was at the party… I had some shots. Aiden was there. And Talya._

_ Talya!_

I can't see very well, as my vision is blurry as fuck. I feel hands on my ankles and see a form bending down by my feet. Talya is doing something to my shoes. A conversation we had a few weeks ago floats into my mind and I speak, stumbling over the words. "Talya. Not this—this again. Did you get me drunk just so I'd agree to, um, wait—what was it?—yeah. I'm not having sex with you." My head hurts and I wait for the nagging and tears.

She doesn't say anything, and my jumbled brain tells me to fill the silence. "It's not anything you did, Tal, but I'm just not in the mood. Like, you know." I'm not making sense. I think I'm going to black out for a second but my bedroom comes swimming back into focus.

_Fuck._ Callie is staring at me, blushing. It's not Talya. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Scar. Callie.

I begin to babble again. "Callie. Hey. Callie, my foster sister. You're Jude's sister. You live here. You were at the party… weren't you? I can't remember."

Then I remember. "Oh. You're with, um, stoner guy. Wyatt. He was trying to fuck you. I could tell. I'll hurt him if you want. No one hurts my sisters." I don't know what I'm saying. But I can't stop.

She speaks before I can continue. "You're drunk, Brandon. Keep your voice down. You need to get out of these clothes and take a shower. Then go to bed. We're both screwed if you wake your moms."

"Our moms." I mumble, just now noticing that my sneakers are off. She said the whole thing briskly, but in the depths of those brown eyes, I can see something stirring. Or maybe it's the vodka. My observational skills are not performing all too well.

I walk to the bathroom, but when I open the door I'm staring in at my closet. Callie snorts. "I guess you need to be undressed as well."

I pause, back to her, as her words roll through my head, gaining meaning as they go. "Uh." Something makes me start to unbuckle my belt. I don't need her help.

She's across the room in a second. "Knock it off." _What?_

The door opens and she's leading me to the bathroom. She shoves a towel at me, turns the water on and whispers, "Take a shower, _cover _up in that, and meet me in your room. Hurry." The door closes.

I stand there for a while, hugging the towel to my chest and listening to the water run. It splatters against the tile wall, and then slides into the drain, suddenly devoid of all energy.

Finally, something in my brain shifts, and I'm able to move. I shed my shirt and pants in a matter of seconds, rip off my briefs, and step under the stream of water. I lean against the wall for balance, and end up sliding to the floor. The hot water pummels me into the tile and I think that bits and pieces of Brandon are being swept down the drain at this very moment. The thought makes me happy.

* * *

_Callie_

I'm shaken.

Considering all I've seen and done, it doesn't happen easily.

He's in the bathroom and I sit on his bed. I'm still trying to wrap my head around what just happened. His words-they angered me, they confused me, and they touched me. As a feminist, I suppose I should object to him feeling responsible for "defending my honor" or whatnot. I know its just the alcohol talking.

It's weird, but I almost prefer a drunk Brandon to a sober Brandon. Sober, he's always so kind and reserved. The boy with looks of a model and the talent of a prodigy. He's got a pretty girlfriend, a loving family, and a bright future. Standing next to him, I'm the girl who's been to juvy, gone through multiple foster homes, and has average grades at best. I have a history that golden boys like Brandon can't come close to imagining. I've so rarely seen him angry, or depressed, or any of the other things I am weighed down by on a daily basis. He is the only boy I know who can turn down a willing, striking girl practically throwing herself at him.

He's too perfect.

Drunk, I see that wall slipping. He's no longer in complete control of his emotions, and the filter in his speech is gone. His face was open, and his eyes full of unreadable thoughts, visible through the haze. Too see him so passionate, so reckless... it made something in my chest stir. Even odder was the fact that the disgust I expected to surface wasn't there. Or rather, there was no disgust for me.

I try not to dwell on it, but the question keeps coming back to me. _Why won't he have sex with Talya?_

I'm sitting there on his bed, when the door swings open. I look up, half expecting to see Lena or Stef standing there with a horrified expression. We've caused quite a ruckus, since even the admirable stealthiness on my part couldn't mask the noise of an extremely drunk teenage boy. It turns out to be just Brandon.

The word _just _doesn't apply in this situation. He's dripping wet, standing there awkwardly, eyes somewhere else entirely. His biceps are standing out, as he holds his towel tightly around his waist, just below the belly button. He turns to close the door and I see his abs ripple. They're perfect, just like the rest of him. They don't bulge out like little bumps, which I had previously thought was the only way to have a six-pack. He is simply sculpted, like a statue out of marble, like his body is all muscle and no fat. His ribs are visible when he lifts an arm, but not in an unhealthy way.

I think I could sit here and stare for hours. It's just so foreign to me; the male body. The only other one I've seen exposed was in the dark of the night with no lights on...

I stop my train of thoughts there. It's been a shitty enough day already.

I get up, moving hastily, and slip by him in order to get to the door. His skin is so hot. I can feel the heat from here.

"Did you get rid of the dirty clothes?" My voice sounds freaky.

"They're in the hamper." The shower seems to have done him some good. His eyes are locked on mine. They seem to change color every time I see him. Blue the day I met him; gray the day of the twins' birthday; green most of the time. Right now they're dark enough to be considered black. I hold a shiver back.

"Goodnight. You're gonna have a terrible hangover tomorrow, so enjoy the buzz while it lasts." I am ready to get out of there. His half-naked body is making me more uncomfortable than I already was.

The door is three quarters of the way closed when I hear, "You're too good for him, Callie."

"What did you say?" I'm belligerent now, peeking my head back in.

He's sitting on the bed, without even the tiniest roll of fat bunched of at his waist. _Lucky bastard. _His eyes are greenish gray again, and as dazed as when I first saw him.

"Sleep well." He says.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Finally done! Thank God. I'm happy to have figured out where this story is going just yesterday, and I'm really excited for you to see all the twists to come. Reviews, reviews, reviews! On another hand, Teen Beach Movie with Maia Mitchell is on tonight. I know what I'm doing at 8 ;)_**

_Callie_

_The room is dark. The only light comes from the full moon, swollen and hovering just over the line of trees visible from the bay window across from the bed I sleep in. It's a sweltering summer night. I have two fans directed at me, and yet I can't help feeling gross and sticky, the heat baking me thoroughly even with the sun hundreds of miles gone. I've shed my shorts and t-shirt. The sheets are crumpled at the base of the bed and I sprawl in my underwear, desperate to find the position that will allow me to finally fall asleep. _

_The door creaks open and a shape blocks the light shining in from the hallway night light. The shoulders are broad. The figure is taller than me. The door shuts. _

_He walks in a rolling crouch, like a hunter closing in on it's prey. The light of the moon gives him a glowing halo. His teeth glint. His eyes are dark, the whites invisible. He's on me like a flash, his bulk crushing me. I'm drowning. My lungs hurt. My bones are crumbling. My heart is racing. My eyes are tearing up._

_The moon shines on._

* * *

I wake up soaked in a cold sweat. My eyes don't open easily. Mariana is gone. The room is empty. I can't breathe for a moment; all there is panic and pain.

"Callie? I'm leaving in fifteen minutes. You better be moving!" Lena's voice tugs me out of bed and over to the closet. I am not controlling my limbs. I am a robot, bound to obey, bound to please. I go through the motions efficiently, thankful the bathroom is open for once. A handful of cold water wakes me up and I look down, surprised to see a yellow sundress hanging from my figure. _The fuck?_

I remember yesterday was laundry day, and in choosing to go to the party, I also guaranteed myself a limited wardrobe for the following day. Whatever. No one but Wyatt would notice or care. I stop in Mariana's room to grab my book bag, and stumble for the stairs as Lena hollers the five minute warning.

There's nothing unusual going on downstairs. Mariana and Jesus are arguing over the last strawberry PopTart, both poised to jump at the toaster. Stef is nursing a mug of black coffee, scanning the day's newspaper. Jude's waiting patiently by the door for Lena, who is shuffling around in the coat closet.

I come close to laughing when I see Brandon. He has sunglasses on and is hunched over a cup of tea, his entire body screaming hangover. He lifts his head for a moment as I make my way noisily to the landing, but lowers it quickly. I ignore him and move to the door to wait beside Jude. I'd rather forgo breakfast then be forced to acknowledge Brandon's presence. Besides, maybe a skipped meal here and there would do my body some good. I feel awkward standing there in my bright, sunny dress, which stops midway down the thigh.

Today, Jude, Jesus and I ride with Lena, and Mariana takes Brandon up on his offer for a ride. Lately, this setup has become the norm. I always go with Lena, Mariana and Jesus are never in the same car, and Jude alternates with an easy-go-lucky attitude the rest of us can't seem to muster.

Five minutes into the car ride, Lena reminds that today's school day is a half day, due to some faculty meeting taking place. She is ecstatic to have managed to bow out and promises us an afternoon of family fun.

"Jesus, text your sister and Brandon, and tell them not to make plans after school. We're all going to meet at the house, cause Stef and I have a surprise for you kids."

"Another sibling?" Jesus is joking, but the remark stings. I have no doubt that when those three found out we would be staying with them for awhile, they were exasperated. I mean, I don't blame them, it just hurts to think that Jude and I will only ever be an inconvenience.

* * *

Wyatt is standoffish when I first see him. He's clearly miffed about being blown off last night. I apologize. What else is there to do?

He has relaxed by second period, and I listen to him ramble as we run around the track. The gym teachers are stretched out in the shade, and obviously are paying no attention at all. I keep chugging along though, short of breath and only able to grunt and nod in response to Wyatt's voice. I'll never be a star runner. That's for sure. I just need to know that if a situation does arise-_stop Callie_-in which I need to run-_it's not going to happen again-_I'd like to know that I could outrun my pursuer-_he's gone, Callie. It's over. Done. _

I'm crying and bleeding and coughing and choking and stumbling and panting before I know what's happening. My vision tunnels and all I can see is Wyatt's face, hovering over mine, pale and round. I move to focus on his greasy roots and breathe in a mouthful of dust. My arm aches and I can see I've skinned my elbow. It's an artificial, shallow wound, but in the moment, the stinging pain is breathtaking.

"Callie? Callie!" Wyatt's a little overexcited. He's screaming for the teachers, and alternatively gripping my face in his sweaty palms. I want to tell him this isn't an old time movie where the lady swoons and the man grabs her up in his arms and carries her to safety. I simply tripped and skinned an extremity. No big deal.

The fattest of the gym teachers jogs over, his gray tracksuit stretched tight over his voluptuous belly. He's fast for his size, and reaches us in a matter of minutes.

Wyatt insists on accompanying me to the school. Once I have a concrete wall for support and the cool air blowing over me from the vents, I tell him to go back to class. He whines and tries his charming clever-talk on me, but I dead-set on being left alone to hobble to the nurse's office. I am in the worst possible mood to have Wyatt breathing down my neck, playing the suave, cool boy character he never gives up. I've only ever seen it slip when he's jealous or angry, and even then there's just this fake air I can practically see surrounding him in a bubble.

He stomps off and I groan at the thought of having to appease him _again._

The halls are quiet. I pass only one hall monitor, and she skates around me nervously, as if she can catch delinquency from the blood smeared on my elbow. I probably look like microwaved shit right now, but I can't bring myself to care. They've all formed their opinions about me already. It's easiest to just maintain my image.

I hear a familiar female voice as I round the intersection between the A and D wings. It's coming from the nurses office. I get a little closer and pick out the girl's identity. It's Lexi.

I've done my fair share of eavesdropping in the past, listening in on foster parents' conversations with the social workers. The art is programmed into me, and I unconsciously slow down, lowering my feet lightly onto the floor.

"...less than a year. I need to take, um, these. Nine and one. He said to give them to you to keep. The school doesn't take kindly to pills after, you know." Lexi is sobbing.

_What?_

"No problem, dear. Come by whenever, if you need to talk or just lie down. My door is always open."

I can tell from their voices that something really serious is going on. A wave of shame washes over me and I cough loudly to give them some heads up to my presence. I've already invaded her privacy, but at least I can redeem myself a tiny bit.

I knock on the door to announce myself formally, and enter the sunny little room. Lexi's back is to me, but I can tell she's hastily wiping away tears. I've done it enough times to know the stance by heart.

The nurse fires me an accusatory glare and hoists herself up from the cot she was perched on. "What can I help you with?" Her voice is reproachful.

"I scrapped my elbow in PE class. Mr, um, Phillips said to come here. I can just wash up in the bathroom though." My voice is flat, my eyes are empty. Nothing gives me away. She mumbles something and hurries over to the cabinets. As she unlocks them, I studiously turn my back on Lexi.

The nurse-Rhonda-slaps some rubbing alcohol on the wound, not bothering to pretend to be gentle. I compare her manner towards Lexi and toward me in my head as she fixes me up. _Is it my reputation? Has she read my file? Does she know I listened in?_

I'm catching up to Wyatt on the track when I get the text from Brandon.

_Mom's leaving early. I'm driving everyone home. Don't be late. _

"Hey Wyatt? Can I get a ride home?"

* * *

_Brandon_

I'm annoyed before we even get home. The car is cramped and awkward, as Mariana is flamboyantly excluding Jesus from the conversation. Worse, we waited ten minutes in the hot car for Callie, before I got a text from Stef saying Callie had gotten a ride home from her boyfriend, and where were we?

I've got SAT prep to do, but moms are adamant that we all spend some quality time together. Great. I can barely hold back a glare directed at Callie. Why couldn't she have just texted one of us her plans? I wonder if its about what happened last night. As far as I can remember, nothing happened of any importance, other than me walking in on her make-out session. And, as I recall, I was polite about that.

She's probably embarrassed, and taking it out on me. Whatever. I'm tired and hot and not in the mood to bond. The throbbing headache splitting my head in two doesn't help. I need to learn to hold my alcohol better.

Once we get inside, we're all forced to sit crammed around the kitchen table. Callie's elbow is brushing against mine and I vaguely wonder where the large bandage came from. Whatever. None of my business. It's probably Wyatt's fault, the asshole.

Lena bangs the table, calling for order. The others laugh. I can feel Callie's body move beside mine. The banging only worsens my hangover, and in extension, my mood. "What are we doing?"

"We are... drum roll please!" Stef is practically singing.

Jude is the only one who complies, tapping the table feverishly with two pencils. I reach over and swat them gently out of his grip. Callie inhales angrily, and I turn to face her. She's glaring. I glare back, boring my eyes into her dark brown irises.

"We're going to the lake, and Jude is going to learn to swim!" Lena's voice is high. She's almost desperate for us to like the idea. I can see her picturing the ideal reaction, which would be all of us leaping up and cheering. Jesus and Mariana say "cool" at the same time, Callie smiles at her brother, who is beaming shyly. He doesn't know how to swim. I feel bad for the kid and force a grin.

"Fun."


	6. Chapter 6

_**I'm actually really happy with this chapter. Thanks for the reviews and follows! Feedback is appreciated, as always. xoxo**  
_

_Brandon_

I'm pretty sure I'm going to kill us all.

I'd blame it on the hangover, but I'm not up to lying to myself.

Almost as soon as our moms announced the day's agenda, Callie objected. "I really want to help Jude learn to swim, but I don't having a bathing suit. Could we postpone the trip until I've gotten one from the mall?

Lena replied swiftly, "That's ridiculous. Borrow one of Mariana's!"

And so we all trampled upstairs to our respective rooms and got ready. I pulled on some blue board shorts and pulled out my laptop to check email. If I had to waste the rest of my afternoon doing nothing productive, I might as well get the daily SAT question out of the way.

Today's question is one of the hardest so far, and it takes me ten minutes of Google searches to figure out the right answer. By then, Lena's voice is hoarse from yelling up to me and everyone else is gathered by the landing.

I grab my phone and a mottled copy of Hamlet on my bedside table. While everyone else is messing around in the water, I'll be able to hopefully finish reading a good chunk of the play. My workload has increased monumentally in the past few months. In addition to my increased piano lessons, and a busier, noisier house with more responsibilities, keeping up grades has required all other free time. But Lena, Stef, and Jude all look so excited for a day at the lake, I can't bring myself to bow out.

I'm check my new texts as I move towards the staircase. They're all from Talya. I can hear my family downstairs, restless and bumbling around as Stef orchestrates us all into either Lena's car or mine.

_wanna come ovr? parents arent back til 6 ;)_

_i have to ride the bus :/_

_u there babe?_

_wtf r u ignoring me?_

I'm trying to figure out how to turn her down on her offer without sounding like a dick when I glance up. And promptly gag.

Callie is standing by the front door. Her body is facing me, but she's turned away, looking down at Jude, who's by her side. She's wearing a sheer racer-back tank top over a fire red bikini. I recognize the bikini as Mariana's, one she begged our moms to get while we were on vacation in Florida. They had originally objected to it, based on the skimpy nature of the thing. But it's Mariana, and she tends to get her way.

Mariana never could fill out the bathing suit like Callie does, however. Her skin is a creamy white where her shorts and t-shirt tan ends. Its comical in a way, but the sight of her firm, muscular thighs flexing as she shifts her weight, cause the rising laugh to disappear. There's a freckle nestled beside her belly button that stands out against the pale, soft skin there. Her collarbones are disproportionately fragile compared to the rest of her lean body.

My eyes have just started to move below the hollow of her long throat when the part of my brain that isn't hazy and clouded notices her head spin around to face me.

It's that moment when I first taste the bile. I've always liked to think of myself as a gentleman, as corny as it sounds. When girls parade by me in short shorts and tops that leave nothing to the imagination; I don't stare. I look at girls' faces, not their bodies. I fantasize about kissing a girl; not "pinning her to a wall and banging her", as Daryl puts it.

I'm in the downstairs bathroom. I lean against the closed door and breathe through my nose. I've seen Talya in bathing suits millions of times and never had this reaction. I'm so disgusted with myself. This was worse than staring a second too long at Callie when she's just gotten out of the shower. I'm ashamed with myself. Callie came here, seeking safety, and I've preyed on her just like the other awful foster siblings she's had before.

That's how I ended up, at the steering wheel of my car, with an ever-present headache and the taste of throw-up spoiling my breath. Jesus has claimed shotgun and is in the middle of telling giving me a play-by-play description of the Yankees game last night. I can't look in the rear-view mirror without being forced to notice Callie, who's leaning against the side door, opposite Jude, texting Wyatt. The angle of the mirror is angled perfectly to see down her shirt, so I just choose to endanger all of our lives by not even glancing in that direction.

Jesus reaches out and turns the music down. "...he completely screwed that hit up. I swear, the entire crowd moaned."

I can sympathize.

* * *

_Callie_

I can't remember the last time I was this relaxed. The morning's mishap is a faint memory blown away by the slight breeze off of the lake.

Jude loves his swimming instructor. He's taken to her so well, laughing and speaking freely in a manner I've only ever seen him have around me, Lena, and Brandon. He's kicking energetically now on his paddle board, smiling with a joy that brings to mind a younger Jude who's never seen the cruelty the world has to offer.

Lena and Stef are lounging by the shore, holding hands, and switching between watching us, and watching each other. I've been raised hearing homophobic slurs and hearing all the theories about unnatural, God-hating gays. I admit to being grossed out at the idea of two women going at it, but somehow, Stef and Lena's relationship seems different. They just fit together. Everything about Lena's personality balances perfectly with Stef's. When I look at them, I don't see lesbians, I see two people in love.

Jesus has managed to drag Brandon away from his book. He's on the mission to find the highest point to jump from into the lake, and since neither Mariana or I were willing to accompany him; the burden fell on Brandon. They're gone from view now, darting somewhere between the trees.

Mariana is over by the snack stand. She didn't bother to change into a swimsuit, seeing as just this morning, she'd spent an hour curling her hair into perfection.

I'm floating around the center of the lake in a rented kayak. It's so peaceful out here. All I can hear is the sound of Jude's laughter and the shrill screams of little kids playing by the lake shore to my right. We're the only ones to be seen for miles.

"Callie! Jude!" I turn sharply towards the sound and the boat wobbles. It's Jesus. He's twenty feet up on a stone overhang that protrudes nearly ten feet over the lake. I see Brandon behind him, looking mildly apprehensive of the long drop. Jesus backs up to go for a running start and launches himself over the edge. There's a brief moment as he hangs in the air, suspended in the fetal position. Then he crashes into water, a splash of enormous size spraying up.

But something's wrong. The water is dark, reflecting the sky like a mirror, and I can't see him. He hasn't surfaced. I look up and Brandon is frozen, scanning the water for any sign of life.

"DO SOMETHING!" I'm screaming.

Jude is not laughing anymore and the instructor has started to move this way. But she's slowed down by Jude's weight and she's too far away. I glance up again, and Brandon's shirt is off. He's diving into the air, so graceful. Every muscle is taut. His eyes are closed and the wind blows back his thick brown hair. He enters the water with hardly a disturbance, slipping into it gently, so gently. At the exact same time, Jesus's head pops out of the water by the rear of the canoe and he laughs.

"I was under for like 2 minutes! Dude, did you see I swam all the way from here to there." His hair is in his eyes and his teeth are white. "I told Moms they should have let me on the swim team."

Brandon resurfaces and I catch his gaze. There's pure panic in his face, etched into those blue eyes and the little wrinkle between his brows. I watch as he notices Jesus holding on the the side of the kayak and grinning triumphantly. The swimming instructor is frowning, but she leaves us be and returns to Jude, who's smiling again.

"What the fucking hell?" Brandon's sputtering and fuming. He ducks down, and I can see him, just barely, skimming along the surface of the water. He comes up for air twice before reaching us.

Jesus laughs and lifts a bicep. "Did you really think a twenty foot drop could contain all this?" He places his palms on the sides of the boat. "Lean to the left, Callie." He hoists himself up and into the boat, rocking it violently as he goes. "Hop in, Brandon."

I can see Brandon deciding whether or not to comply, still pissed. He makes up his mind with a sigh and mimics Jesus's movements. He flexes his arms, and then his torso is sliding out of the water, slick and wet. The friction of the kayak against his body as he pulls himself up causes his shorts to lower and I catch a glimpse of V in his hipbones, and the tan skin stretched over them. There's heat spreading in me.

He's forced to sit in the middle of the kayak, as I've claimed the back and Jesus is in very front. My legs were previously stretched out, and now he sits between them, my ankles close to brushing his dripping shorts. Up close, his back isn't as perfect as I had first imagined. I can see a scar, an inch long, and shining white in the sunlight. It's right beside his spine, which sticks out a little abnormally, due to years of slouching. There's a sprinkling of tiny freckles along the round curve of his shoulder. His right bottom rib is sticking out just a little more than it should be.

He pivots slightly and I watch captivated as his torso twists, the muscle more distinct than ever. The freckle to the right of his nose is invisible in the sunlight and all I can really make out of his features are those blue-green-grey eyes and the pink lips, moist and moving.

"Callie. Please give me the paddle. I'm taking us in." He acts as if he's asked already, but I haven't heard anything. I'm reluctant to relinquish my hold on it, but I know he will get us in faster.

"Here." I'm holding it out to him and our hands touch. His are wet and cool from the lake, and mine are dry and cracking. I'm overly aware of the twist in my bathing suit top straps, which is causing the fabric to slip slowly, uncovering parts of me not meant to be seen. I can feel the flesh settled around my waist, and I pray he doesn't look down at my thighs, which are spread so my legs can fit on either side of the kayak.

He takes it, not meeting my eyes, and goes back to berating Jesus, which has been going on for a while, I gather. I must have zoned out. He doesn't sound angry. More so worried, and annoyed to have reacted so strongly.

As athletic as he is, there are three people in the boat, and we progress slowly towards shore. I turn to Jude who is now treading water, arms working overtime as the instructor coaches him on moving his legs. I love that look in his eyes. The one that says he wants to learn, that he is ready to do something new, that he's forgotten everything negative that's ever happened.

I'm tearing up, touched so strongly by the innocence he has that I can never again possess. I hear someone exhale, and I find myself face to face with Brandon. He's looking at me, looking so deeply I think he can see my blood churning and my organs pumping. His eyes are swirling, darker than just minutes before. I've always called bullshit on the whole, "eyes are the windows to the soul", but I can see every part of him in those eyes. He looks so sad, those onyx eyes saying it all.

_But what does a guy like him have to be sad about?_


	7. Chapter 7

**_Next chapter is going to be REALLY good, if I do say so myself. Keep following and reviewing!_**

_Callie_

The dreams have been getting steadily worse. I wake up some nights, certain I can feel his presence just inches away. I never know if the hands I feel all over my body are real or not. I just know I'm slipping, and it frightens me beyond belief.

I don't know what's triggered this relapse. I don't know how to go back to the fragile, precarious peace I'd found in this past month.

The past week has been a blur of school, Wyatt, and running. Since my wipe out in gym Tuesday, I've been working to get in better shape. It wouldn't hurt as well if the daily runs helped me slim down a little.

At least, that's what I tell myself. But somewhere deeper down, I know the sudden urge to run comes from a darker place, with no connection to body image or fitness. When I run, my sneakers pounding the pavement, my heart beating in tandem with my racing lungs, I feel safe. When I run, I am confident no one can hurt me, or touch me, or punish me. I push myself past what I am capable up, until my sides are burning, and my blood has broken free of its constraints, and I am sloshing full of it, every movement akin to falling from the sky onto a bed of jagged rocks. But I don't stop, because the greatest pain of all comes when I do. Then, I am empty, a worn out, broken body just waiting to be used and beaten and violated. So I run.

* * *

Mariana's calendar says it's Saturday. The alarm clock says it's half past ten. I stare at the square, glowing numbers for a moment as my brain spins in action, working to give meaning to those little yellow boxes. It clicks, and I sit up, mumbling a few choice curses. The past three days, it's been come a routine to wake at six and get in a couple miles before school. I go again at five in the afternoon. The sun is low and the air cooler at those times, since otherwise the heat here could burn me to a crisp.

I'm pissed at the alarm clock or who ever screwed up the settings, but not too angry. From my spot in bed, I can see the sky is dark outside and hear the loud grumbling of the swollen, heavy dark clouds. I look down, and realize I'm freezing. My arms are covered in prickly goosebumps and it takes all of my willpower to keep my teeth from chattering. My sheets are bundled at the foot of my bed, and my pillow is on the ground. Mariana left the fan going, and I shiver as it rotates around to face me.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, noting the tightness in my quads and the twinge in my joints. My left foot is asleep, and I stomp the floor as I move to the closet to select a pair of grey sweatpants. I leave on just my camisole, as the skin on my bicep and elbow is still red and sore from my fall.

I set out a pair of shorts and my running tank, hoping the clouds are nearly through releasing their load on the world. I barely remember to run a brush through my hair, and scrub my teeth clean in under a minute. I continue down the hallway, busy planning the route I'll take today, and hardly aware of the voices downstairs.

I'm still brushing gunk out of my eyes when I enter the living room. My senses are assaulted by a crowd of sights, smells, and sounds.

* * *

_Brandon_

Talya smells so good. She's wearing some fancy new perfume from Victoria's Secret and her hair is infused with the scent of strawberries and cream she knows I love. I only have ten or so minutes to appreciate it though.

Mom woke me this morning around nine. The weather forecast for the day had looked awful. She knew I had plans with Talya at the park around eleven, and she told me to invite Talya over our house instead, since she and Stef have this thing about not driving in a storm. One of their friends died from that or something a while back. Lena wanted Mom back downstairs to watch an early morning Seinfeld marathon with her, and so I was tasked with going around to everyone's rooms and notifying them that they can invite a friend over.

I texted Talya the change in plans, and she replied back with a smiley face and three exclamation points. Cool.

Jude was up when I walked into the room he shares with Jesus. He had the family iPad and had his back hunched as he focused intently on a game of Temple Run. I stood there, holding the doorknob, and eyeing the look of utmost concentration on his face. Since Jude has been here, I've noticed how the simplest things like snack foods and technology, are almost foreign to him. He's like a child who's grown up with nothing but clothes on his back, and a roof over his head. The other day, he dropped a plate on the ground while he and I were cleaning up after dinner. I reached out instinctively to try and catch it, and he flinched back from me. There was fear in his eyes.

I was overcome by an urge to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything is going to be okay. But I couldn't lie to him.

"Jude?" He startled and looked up, eyes wide. "We're all going to stay in today. Stef says you can invite a friend over if you want. Sound good?"

He nods at me. I see something flicker in his eyes, but Jesus distracted me.

"What? Dude, I just woke up. We can invite a friend over? Do you think Moms will let Lexi come over?" His voice was muffled, his face buried deep in a pillow.

I snorted, then regretted it. "The trouble will probably be convincing _her _parents."

He mumbled a quiet, "Screw you", and I ruffled his hair on my way out, promising Jude pancakes in a little bit.

Mariana tells me to piss off when I first knock on the girls' door. I take that as an invitation to enter. Callie is sprawled out on her bed in the corner, face down, hair splayed out haphazardly. She's twitching erratically, limbs trembling and moving haltingly. I hear a moan, and spin away from her side of the room, that now-familiar sense of shame flooding me. Mariana is looking at me curiously.

"She's always doing that. Well, at least for the past week. Probably wet dreams about Wyatt."

That comment sent me over the edge. "Shut up." I managed to spit out, my hands clenched into tight fists. I don't understand what about those words set me off, I just know I wanted to drive my fist into Wyatt, into anyone who has every lay a hand on the prone, unconscious girl behind me. "Just shut up."

My anger stems from a place that isn't quite brotherly instincts, but I figure my feels must stem from there somehow. Why else would I be willing to tear a boy apart with my bare hands?

Mariana recoiled from whatever expression was on my face and I tried to be nice as I told her the day's plans. I left Callie there to sleep and dream, not without putting a considerable amount of effort into restraining myself from reaching out to brush the little bit of skin on her face left exposed.

Less then two hours later, I'm on the sofa, feet sprawled on the coffee table, which Lena keeps mentioning. She's curled up on the love seat beside Stef, and they're both hooked on the cheesy chick flick Talya brought here. Talya is pressed flush against me, playing with my fingers and swollen knuckles, occasionally leaning away to reach for a fistful of buttered popcorn. Jesus and Mariana are sitting on opposite sides of the room, both sulking. Mariana didn't invite anyone and Lexi's parents wanted her at home with them during the storm. ]ude and his friend, Connor, I think, are upstairs, playing with the PSP.

The storm is picking up. The windows are shaking with the pressure from the buckets of water spewing down. The wind is so loud, it's drowning out the playful banter between the two main characters. They're about to kiss, the slow music perfectly matching their movements, when I hear footsteps on the stairs.

I spot two daintily shaped feet covered with cuts and bruises, as well as calluses. Callie.

Something comes over me and I pull Talya's face to mine. She complies easily, and our lips meet. She escalates the kiss quickly, running her tongue against my lower lip. I move away, confused as to why she's moving past PG levels of affection. The kiss has almost made me forget this morning's temper tantrum, but Callie's blank, pale face reminds me as soon as I surface.

She's angled away from us, and is instead facing the tv screen, captivated by the steamy kiss, it seems. Her wrinkled sweatpants are rolled up several times at the waist, exposing a sliver of skin below her tight white camisole. The fabric is puckered up in two points on her chest. Her skin is giving off a soft glow, and her eyes are clouded.

I feel Talya thread her fingers through mine, and I cling to her, palms uncharacteristically sweaty.

"I'm going for a run." Callie's facing our moms now, and her shirt has shifted to cover her hips.

"Are you kidding me? It's pouring out there. I don't think you should go." Lena looks worried and skeptical, her head tilted in that quizzical way that has become her trademark in this house.

Callie stiffens, but quickly relaxes. "I'll be quick. I need to stretch my legs. I'll come hang out when I'm done."

I can see Lena giving in before she nods her acceptance. "Don't go too far, and stay out of the puddles. I can sense some lightning coming."

Callie smiles, but there isn't any happiness in it. Her lips are stiff and her eyes strained with some unknown burden. She turns and hurries up the stairs. I try to focus on the movie, but all I can hear is the creaking of the floorboards above me. The image of her dropping those baggy pants to the ground and stepping out of them in just her undergarments invades my mind. My breathing hitches.

I stuff some popcorn in my mouth and chew loudly to drown out the sound of her undressing. I bite my tongue and the pain is blissfully numbing. I relax against Talya and let my eyelids drop closed.

I don't see or hear Callie leave the house. I'm dreaming of PSP's and broken hearts and lost dreams and falling rain.

* * *

_Callie_

The rain is pushing me to the ground, whipping down on my skull and soaking into my clothes. I tip my head back and let the water drip down my face and into my mouth. It's pure and sweet, and I feel it trickle down my throat, tickling me. The sensation is a nice change from the pain surging through every limb. My muscles are screaming for oxygen and my lungs are burning. There are flames in me, turning my insides to crispy little bits and pieces that rattle around under my skin.

I've overestimated my abilities. I'm three miles away from home, on my way back, when I realize I'm running myself into the ground. My muscles are liquid. This is further then I've ever gone before, physically and mentally. My right foot hits a puddle deeper than I originally thought and I'm falling, my legs folding under me and my arms straight out.

I'm hitting the pavement and the water no longer tastes sweet. It's sour and dirty and smelly and in my face and hair and nose and down my shirt and everywhere. My chin has hit the sidewalk, and my ankle is aching. I want to just lie there forever and melt into the earth. It'd be so easy.

But my phone is vibrating in my sports bra. I smudge the screen with my muddy fingers, but the name at the base of the screen is visible. _Brandon._

"Where are you? Moms are freaking. You've been gone for over an hour. Did you sneak off to see Wyatt or something." There's an emotion I can't put my finger on in his voice, twisting his words until they're strangled and halting.

"I need you to come and get me. I'm on Sycamore Lane. Please don't tell anyone. Bring a towel and some bandages." I make my voice sharp and business like. I have to remind myself that this is necessary. If Lena or Stef see me like this, they'll want me to stop running. And that isn't an option. I need Brandon's help. I need him.

I listen to him breathe, the pattern hitched and uneven. I wait for the rejection, for the refusal. He has Talya at home. Why would he even consider leaving her to help me?

"Be there in five."


	8. Chapter 8

**_The fosters episode tonight was intense. I was squealing at the scene in the kitchen between Brandon and Callie. FEELS. Hope you like this chapter as much as I do, and reminder: Guests, or people w/o accounts on fanfiction can leave reviews as well. Enjoy. _**

_Brandon_

I can tell Talya is suspicious. I told her I need to duck outside and go for a quick spin around the neighborhood since my allergies are acting up. It's a weak cover story, and I can see Jesus out of the corner of my eye, raising an eyebrow mischievously in curiosity. She stares at me as I sidle out of the room. I grab my keys once I'm out of her line of sight and grab an umbrella. I still can't believe Callie went running in this. I can't believe I'm going to go get her. I'm not her knight in shining armor. I'm not even her friend anymore.

There's a couple used towels in my trunk from our lake outing earlier this week, and the first-aid kit is still sitting untouched in the glove compartment. I'm not putting any more effort into this than I have to. I can imagine how frustrated she must have been to have to ask my help. Why me though? Why not Wyatt? He'd kiss her boo-boos and take her moment of weakness as an opportunity to put his hands all over her body.

I flick on the windshield wipers with more force than necessary and let the hum of engine and the blast of hot air soothe me, before putting the car into reverse and pulling out onto the streets. It's less than three minutes to Sycamore Lane, and I come close to taking the longer route, just for more time to wrestle through what I'm feeling as of this moment. But I think of Callie wet and cold, helpless and scared, and there's nothing to do but turn the car towards where she sits, waiting for me.

I almost drive right by her, she fades into the background so well.

She's leaning against a gnarled maple tree, huddling under the little protection its branches provide. I can see a bloody gash on her shin, but she seems to be unaware. She's crouched low to the ground, knees tucked under her chin and arms encircling them. Her clothes are muddy and wet, stuck to her body and no doubt causing the horrific tremors wracking her body. I've always seen her as strong and sturdy, with curves in just the right places. Right now, she looks frail and fragile, the muscle wiry and devoid entirely of fat.

Her hair is a tangled, matted mess pressed against her skull and I can see twigs poking out. The bandage covering her skinned elbow is gone, lost somewhere in the neighborhood, and the angry red marks stand out against the brown mud and white skin. Her face is scrunched up, and it takes me a moment to figure out why.

She's sobbing, silently and violently. There's a pain that goes beyond external wounds etched in the lines on her forehead and she's gasping to breathe. Her body rattles with effort of sucking oxygen into her lungs. Her fingernails are making indentations in the flesh of her leg. She's going to break the skin.

I don't remember putting the car into park, or reaching for the door, or standing up. I just know I'm running towards her, across the road, through an ankle-deep puddle, over a fallen tree branch. Callie looks up and I can see fear and apprehension in her bloodshot eyes, cutting and immobilizing. I freeze five feet away from her.

I am standing there, silent and still, when her eyes flicker, and I can see the barriers crumbling. The unsettling fear is replaced by hope, and the apprehension becomes an emotion I might call affection if I didn't know any better. She slowly unfolds her limbs, but stays seated, her dark eyes locked on mine.

I advance slowly, one foot in front of the other, now thoroughly soaked and dripping wet. The sky rumbles, the ground quakes, and my skin meets hers.

* * *

_Callie_

His arms are around me and his face is buried in the crook of my neck. He's nearly as wet as me, but heat is radiating off of his skin, and I'm so comfortable. He smells clean, like aftershave, and laundry detergent, and shop rite brand soap. There's a hint of the scent of boy underneath that, musky and intoxicating, unlike anything I've ever inhaled. His biceps are so firm, fitting perfectly to the slope of my sides. He's kneeling over me, and his hips are almost touching mine. I've forgotten everything and the ache in my leg is gone. All I know is his body, and his short brown hair tickling my cheek, and his breath hot on my neck. He's rubbing my back soothingly, and telling me I'm all right, telling me it's okay.

I'm pulling back, shoving him off of me. I've heard those words before. Uttered from the mouth of a boy who'd gripped me similarly. And it wasn't ever okay. I'm not alright. Brandon wants to hurt me and use me just like everyone else. I don't mean anything to him. I don't mean anything to anyone. I'm worthless. Just like _he _said.

Brandon looking at me like I'm a rabid animal. He gets up slowly, not making eye contact and walks away. Walks away from me like everyone I've ever trusted, other than Jude.

My knees are wedged under my chin again. I'm starting to shake again, the ghost of his warmth evaporating, leaving me chilled and longing for his body and the safety and comfort it brings. But that's just my mind playing tricks on me.

The engine starts but he doesn't drive away. The wheels squeak as the car does a sharp U-turn. He pulls up on the road in front of me.

"Get in." His lips are moist, water droplets dangling from his thick black eyelashes. He works his narrow jaw and his shoulder brushes his hair, which is curled up at the ends. His skin is like satin, luminescent in the dull light trickling in from the north, where the clouds are not as heavy.

I ignore him, poking a bruise on my forearm and stilling my shivers. There's a tiny twinge of regret for making him drive all the way out here, but I'm not going to be alone with him in a cramped little space, even if only for a minute. I'm not putting myself in that situation again.

I'm waiting for him to just roll up the window and finally leave me be. But instead the door opens and he's fumbling around in the glove apartment and he's going around the back and he's pulling out an umbrella. He's approaching me and he's bending down. He's placing the umbrella beside me and he's opening the kit.

His hands are on my ankles and fire is surging through my blood vessels. I want to pull away, but his fingers are so gentle, cleaning the cut with a practiced and steady hand. His skin is radiating heat and I close my eyes, pretending he actually cares, pretending this isn't some big ploy to gain my trust, pretending he's not going to break me in two as soon as I show any weakness.

Brandon finishes up, and draws back. He leaves the umbrella at my side and gets back into the car, tossing the kit onto the back seat. The engine starts and he meets my eyes. Then drives away.

I stand, wincing from the pain and unfold the umbrella. One foot in front of the other, I walk home.

* * *

_Brandon_

We're just about to find out who the rapist is when the power goes out.

Conner's long gone, and it's just me, Talya, and Lena in the living room watching Law & Order. Mom has a migraine and Jude and Callie are reading together in the girls' room. Jesus is inhaling a bowl of cereal at the dining room table and Mariana is in the bathroom, doing who knows what.

The lights are flickering, and then the house goes dark. Agent Benson is cut off mid-sentence. The microwave stops spinning and I hear a shout from upstairs.

"Brandon, be a doll and go check on the kids upstairs. Jesus, Talya, come help Lena and me light some candles." Mom's voice rings out from somewhere behind me. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust, but once they do, I can see the outlines of my familys' forms. Talya's eyes are reflecting the light of the moon, and it bothers me for some reason.

I get to my feet, crumbs spilling down my shirt to the floor. The heat has only been off for a minute, but I can already feel the cool air against my skin, whispering softly in my ear. Talya releases her hold on me and I fumble over to the staircase, tripping on Mariana's massive geometry textbook. I make it up the steps with no mishaps. I reach the second floor just as Mariana opens the door to the bathroom and storms out. I can't see her face that well, but I know she's fuming. I can practically see the anger seeping out of her pores.

"I'm literally going to kill Moms if they forgot to pay the electricity bill again." I come close to laughing at her but think better of it.

"Mariana, it's the storm. We've all lost power." I'm eager to find out who shouted, and I move to pass her.

"Whatever." I can sense her rolling her eyes. "Callie and Jude are hogging my room, so I might as well go downstairs."

She passes me and I'm walking slower now, not at all eager to face Callie after the morning's latest drama. But the cool wind has found its way into the house and it carries the sound of Jude's cries to me over the thunder of the pouring rain.

Callie is in the center of the room, her back to me. She's singing, a sweet, soothing lullaby, and I can hear the distress in her voice. Upon further inspection, I notice Jude, huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth. Little cries are escaping his clenched jaw and tears glisten in the faint light on his cheeks.

Callie gives no hint of recognition as I step into the room and make my way over to stand behind her. She's humming now, reaching for him, but he can't see her face. In his eyes, she must look like a faceless shadow, grasping at him with clawed fingers.

She draws back, and without taking her eyes off of him, speaks to me, "He doesn't like storms. The lights going out set him off. The weather... it triggers memories of... stuff. My voice just strengthens the flashbacks-" She doesn't ask for help, but I can hear it in her voice. She'd do anything for Jude, even if it means accepting my assistance twice in one day.

"Hey, buddy. It's Brandon. Your brother. Do you wanna go downstairs? We've got flashlights and candles. You can bring your game boy." He doesn't object as I approach him. I slid to the ground beside him, leaving a few feet's distance between us. He quiets as I talk, and I push forward. I wish Lena was here to handle the situation. She's great at all this touchy-feely stuff. I'm completely out of my element. I don't know what Callie is referring to when she speaks of bad memories, but I know it has to be bad to reduce the sweet kid I know to this pitiful boy scared of his own sister. "Come on, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you, Jude. It's Brandon."

I recognize the release of tension in his shoulders. Just earlier this day, that was the last thing I saw before I had Callie in my arms, warm and cold, shaking and so perfectly fitted against me. I move closer to Jude and he doesn't resist. Soon I have my arm around him, and he's shuddering against me and I'm staring at his sister, thinking of those few brief seconds when she was safe and content in my arms.

_Why did you pull away? What did I do?_

Jude has grown quiet by my side. He's far too big to fit comfortably in my arms, but I make do anyway, telling him to hide his face in my chest until we get downstairs. I stand up awkwardly. The moonlight catches Callie as she stands too and I see her eyes burning with possessiveness and hurt. She holds the door for us and follows me down the hall and to the stairs, the cold air nipping at our heels.

I've been upstairs for almost ten minutes now, and the living room has been transformed in the time I've been gone. Candles and lanterns are sprinkled throughout the room, and someone has produced what looks to be ham sandwiches. The floor is littered with cushions and blankets, and the air is a comfortable temperature. Mariana has a sleeping bag stretched out over the sofa, and is fiddling around on her phone. Mom and Lena are lounging against the foot of the couch and are pouring glasses of wine. Talya is seated stiffly on the armchair, legs crossed. She gives me a half-smile when she sees me.

"Lena got the generator going, but it can only power one thing at a time." Mom doesn't look too surprised to see Jude in my arms. "We chose heat for the first floor."

I set Jude down by Jesus and straighten up. "What does that mean? All of our winter blankets are buried in the back of the attic."

Lena looks thrilled. "We're having a sleepover down here!"

I am suddenly very aware of Callie's presence less than three feet away from me. A sleepover. Just what we needed. Great.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Enjoy. Trying to do one a day. Bear with me. _**

_Callie_

I am not happy with the sleeping arrangements.

Mariana insists on being as far away from Jesus as possible, which puts them on either ends of the room. Lena and Stef have reclaimed the couch. Jude is still frightened, and insists on sleeping in between the two "men", Brandon especially. The memory of Jesus and Lexi doing the nasty right under their noses seems to be fresh in Stef's mind, and she insists Brandon and Talya be separated by at least one person.

That one person turns out to be me.

I won't do it. I don't care if I freeze to death upstairs; I won't do it.

My certainty wavers when I realize there is a leak in the ceiling above my bed, and the sheets are soaked thoroughly through. Lena sighs when I go back downstairs to tell her.

"I've been telling Stef to fix that part of the roof for ages." I can hear the frustration in her tone, and I regret even mentioning it. Tempers are flaring in the dark already. Talya and Brandon are going at it in the next room, their hushed whispers sharp and cutting. I can't make out the words.

"It's never leaked before now, Lena!" Stef turns to me and softens her voice. "Just sleep down here honey. We'll worry about that tomorrow. I promise not to snore. Plus, you'll be able to bond with Talya. It's going to be pretty tight quarters, just like the sleepovers Mariana used to throw here in grade school."

Mariana feels the need to join the conversation. "Mooooom, I thought we agreed to never speak of those again. You were always butting in and telling God-awful horror stories. I'm still scarred."

She shouldn't have said that. Stef tells us all to finish the sandwiches, then set up our sleeping bags, thrilled to have a chance to show off her story-telling skills. We oblige, moving slowly and carefully, as most of the batteries in the flashlights have died, and the only light comes from a few flickering candles. Lena watches us all with an amused smirk, recovered from her brief outburst. If you can even call it an outburst. For Lena, that one snide comment was, I suppose.

I know I should ask Mariana if I could sleep in her bed, or Jude if I can sleep in his, but I'm so warm, and the longer I sit down here, the more I realize I'm over reacting. Nothing bad is going to happen. Lena and Stef are going to be one body-length away. I'm safe. Brandon can't hurt me.

I'm pretty sure Talya hates the setup even more than I do. She's silent and sulking the entire time we are eating. I want to tell her that she can go home any minute now. There's nothing keeping her here other than her insane jealously of any walking, talking female within fifty meters of her boyfriend. Jesus and I are left holding up the conversation. Mariana pitches in occasionally, but even then, she's only speaking to me. Jude doesn't have anything to say, which isn't unusual, and Brandon is sitting stiffly. He's holding Talya's hand, but I can sense a tension between them, polluting the air with its awkward nature.

Lena's talking to her mother on her dying cell phone in the next room, making sure she hasn't been hit too hard by the storm. Stef is hooking the generator up so that we'll be able to take hot showers for a brief period of time. I can hear her fussing around on the porch, cursing quietly now and then. I don't bother to offer my assistance. I'd just slow her down.

The cold air is creeping in from under the door and through the cracks in the wall. I'm shivering before long, my sweats not doing their job all that well. I leave Jesus to carry on the conversation with a sea of blank faces and crawl into the sleeping bag reserved for me. Talya has built a little fort of the warmest blankets to my right and Brandon seems to have made do with the sheet off of his bed and a small pink cotton blanket on my right. He gave up his sleeping bag for Jude. I'm using Lena's since she has the couch.

Luckily, I get to use the bathroom first, since I've already showered this afternoon - after my run - and I only need to brush my teeth and use the toilet. I stand by the sink with my hands under the faucet, letting the steaming water burn the backs of my hands. The warmth fuses with my body, and I don't want to move. But I can hear Talya on the other side of the door, shifting her weight impatiently and sighing dramatically, loud enough for me to hear over the running of the water. Not for the first time today, I want to reach out and slap her. Jude should be able to go next. He's young, and too skinny for his own good. If I'm this cold, I can't fathom how badly he's feeling. But she's our _guest_, and Lena's too polite for her own good. I finish up, picturing her listening to me pee, and exit.

It's only nine o'clock when we all lie down, but it feels much later. My body is aching and I'm fed up with the storm and the situation and the company. Sleeping in the same room with just Mariana is sounding better and better by the minute.

Brandon was last to shower, and he's still damp when he lowers himself to the floor beside me. The heat has been slow to start up and I can see his bare feet poking out where the blanket doesn't cover him. He's got on a white wife-beater and I'm mystified as to how he is comfortable. The shirt is wet from his body, and the fabric is turned see-through, his every muscle clearly visible. I tilt my head away from him and catch Talya eyeing him like he's a piece of meat. There's lust in her eyes. I know that look well. But normally it's glistening in the eyes of a man, staring at me, reaching for me...

Stef starts in on her horror stories, doing her best to keep spirits high and distract us from the horrible moaning of the wind against the windows and the creaking of the house being pushed from its foundation. "Mad Henry was a hermit who lived alone in a decrepit mansion at the edge of town. Rumors were rife about the wild-eyed man. Some folks said that he was a magician who called upon the powers of darkness to wreck havoc..."

I tune out her monotone. Curious as to who's actually paying attention, I look around. Jesus is on his phone. _Lexi. _Jude is enthralled, eyes wide and mouth gaping. I would be worried, but Jude's smart. He's not scared of ghosts or monsters under the bed. He knows the real monsters are human and he's encountered a few. Flesh-eating demons don't faze him.

I skip over Brandon, still upset I'd gawked at him like a boy-crazy airhead. I rotate, making lots of noise in the nylon material, and glance over at Mariana. She's on her phone, just like Jesus. It's got to be a twin thing. Even when they're fighting, I always seem to catch them doing the exact same thing, unaware of the other.

Talya's eyes are fixed on me. I meet them at first, but there's so much hostility in those glowing orbs, I have to turn away. Which leaves me facing Brandon.

His eyes are closed, but I can tell he's awake. It's the set of his shoulders, and the tightness of his facial features that gives him away. His breathing isn't as slow and calm as it should be. He's right near a vent in the floor, and the hot air blows his hair dry as I watch. Little curls are dancing around his face and his shirt is flapping against his skin. He's so close to me. I can see his freckle, his otherwise flawless skin, his unreasonably pink lips. If I reached out an arm, my hand would be on his chest. His hard, sculpted chest.

Stef seems to be wrapping up her story, and soon enough the room is quiet. Stef breaks her promise after about ten minutes. She snores softly, wheezing a little at times. I check my phone. It's only nine thirty. Everyone is asleep but me. Brandon is relaxed now, his face innocent and harmless in his sleep. He's sweating though, the hot air too much now. I watch a bead of it trickle down his face. It looks like a tear.

* * *

_I'm dreaming. My mom has reached down my shorts to check for ticks after a trek in the woods. It feels weird. I'm waking up and there's still a hand in my underwear, hot against the untouched skin of my butt. I'm frozen, my heart's pounding. I'm dreaming. I have to be dreaming. But I open my eyes again, and I'm still in bed, and the hand is still there, buried down my new white panties from Target. _What's happening?_ I can't breathe. Something hot on my neck, then my waist. More stillness. Then a hand over my mouth and I'm trying to scream, my heart is going too fast, my eyes are welling up and hot tears are searing my cheeks and I'm praying to a God I know doesn't exist. _Please God no._ But I can't move and I don't try to. I am a statue, unmoving, uncaring, as those burning hands travel up and down my body. No one is going to stop it. I'm helpless. It hurts and-_

There are hands on me when I wake up. But these ones are soft and warm, brushing against my forehead, and wiping the sweat out from my hairline. Someone's saying my name, over and over, until it sounds magical to my ears.

"Callie. Callie. Shh. Wake up. Callie." Jude's face comes swimming into focus over mine. He's clenching my fisted hand with one arm and wiping my forehead with the other. He's whispering to me, moving his hand up to pet my hair. "Callie."

He doesn't know what else to say. When he notices my bleary eyes, locked onto his, he moves back an inch. I see him start to stand. He's going back to bed. He's done his job. He's saved me in the only way he can.

"I love you Jude." My voice is hoarse and I have a hard time getting the words out. I don't like displays of affection. But I make exceptions for the boy standing over me. "I love you so much baby."

He doesn't reply and he's lying down again before I'm even fully awake. I watch his petite body rise and fall for a few minutes before settling back down. I kick off my sleeping bag, sweaty and gross. I peel off my pants and top and lay them under my pillow. I'll worry about my clothing, or lack thereof, in the morning. No one can see me now. I stretch out on top of the sleeping bag and turn to face Talya. But that hurts my sore elbow, so I pivot again.

Brandon's looking at me. Not my barely covered bum, or my exposed thighs, or my pale stomach. He's looking into my eyes with an intensity I've never seen before. Never. His eyes look golden in the light, and they're swirling, hypnotizing. He slowly, deliberately, lets his eyes travel down my body and back up again, but he's not checking me out. He's memorizing every detail of me, of my body, and he's going to remember it. He's so earnest, so curious, as he examines the hollow of my neck, the slope of my chest, the indentation of my belly button, the curve of my hips. He's mapping me out with his eyes and I'm letting him. I'm caught in those eyes and I'm powerless.

Then he's turning, and his back's to me and he's breathing softly and I'm staring at the gentle bumps in his back and I'm wondering what just happened. And I'm realizing he's one of those plants that beguile you with their appearance, so beautiful you have to touch it, so innocent you know it won't do you any harm, until you're stuck. And there's no way out.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Feedback please. Longest chapter yet. Liam is going to have his grand entrance soon! I love everyone who's favorited and followed, and especially my reviewers. *Reminder, guests can review- You don't need an account!_**

**_Late night addition: I got a guest review saying there is the same fan fic on instagram and he or she wants to know if I'm copying. I looked into it and the fanfic was completely different, but I just want to say I'm legitimate people! I swear on Brallie, this is all spouting from my crazy mind. You can ask my friend Sam, she's seen me slaving over this story. and someone else was offended by the fact that I had Callie not believe in God in one chapter. I'm sorry, guys, I'm doing my best to stick to who I think these characters are and I apologize if my writing bothers you. Thanks for the feedback though! I'll try to be more sensitive in the future. Love you guys, and I SWEAR I'M THE WRITER (:_**

_Brandon_

I'm pretty sure Talya and I broke up.

I've only ever dated her, and I'm not sure how the whole thing works, but based on what happened yesterday, I'd bet my entire life savings I'm single. Walking into school this morning, I wasn't sure what to expect. For so long, I've been one half of a couple, always bound to walk her to class, or sit with her at lunch, or pick her up from home when she's bored. So much has been invested into our relationship, and I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that every moment we've shared together is now gone, erased from our minds like they never happened.

I don't know what I'm feeling. I'm certainly not crying in bed, eating my feelings and watching bad romance movies, but I'm not strutting down the hall whistling at pretty girls without a second thought either.

The news has spread fast. Aiden greets me at my locker, a big grin on his face. "Ready to get back out in the playing field, bro?"

"What do you mean?" I'm exhausted and overworked and stressed-out. I'm not up to verbal sparring right now.

The wind goes out of his sails a little at my tone, but he's still smiling. "You. Me. Some hot girls. The diner tonight. We're going to celebrate being bachelors."

It takes a second for his words to click. "Won't Chelsea has a problem... wait, you're single, too?"

He nods and I see another forced grin form on his face. He looks bad, like he hasn't shaved in days and the under eye circles indicate a few nights of missed sleep. I probably look no better. "Caught Chels hooking up with Daryl Friday night. Dumped her right then and there. No big deal." I can see it is a big deal. Daryl is a close acquaintance, if not a friend. Aiden's had a crush on her since sixth grade. Earlier in junior year, he finally got up the nerve to ask her out. Talya had helped him do it.

Talya.

I'm not sad that we're no longer a couple. I'm not sad to have to look over my shoulder every time I talk to a female friend. I will miss her though. She has lovely smelling hair, and my moms adore her, and when it's just us up in my room, she'll just sit there talking, for hours on end, while I fiddle around on the keyboard.

"I'm down for a night out. Why not just a guy's night though?" I'm just barely done talking when someone bumps into me from behind. I recognize the tangled, girly blond hair and matted leather jacket.

Wyatt ignores my glare and keeps going, moving down the hallway with a slow, presumptuous swagger. He's coming up behind Callie, who's unloading her books into the dented locker she's been assigned. She's talking to a short, mousy girl, and the girl seems to be warming up to her. She writes something down on a piece of paper, and hands it to Callie, smiling brightly and takes off towards the B wing. I forget about Wyatt for a second, and watch Callie lean against the wall. She's so beautiful, her lips turning up slightly and I can imagine her delight at having finally made a friend.

Then Wyatt's arms are around her and she's frightened, terrified. I'm jerking in her direction, but she's kissing him, her rosy lips moving against his, and I'm tearing my gaze away. Aiden's face swims back into existence.

"Dude. What the fuck? You were staring at that chick over there for like ten freaking minutes! Your mom's are fostering her, right? I gotta say, I'd give my right nut to sleep in the same house as her, even if she is psycho or whatever. She's pretty hot, but in a different kinda way. Too bad she's totally hooking up with Wyatt. She's probably really good in the sack. All foster girls are total sluts or complete prudes, from what I hear, and I bet she's the first one. Hey, does she ever give you any action at your house or something? For extra money? Dude, put in a good word for me, eh?"

Halfway through his speech, I'm bracing myself to slam him into the ground and kick the shit out of him. It's not even a matter of defending her honor. Callie can take care of herself. She's made that more than clear. I'm sure that if Aiden made an inappropriate advance on her, he'd live to regret it. I just want him to shut up, I want to run out of school, I want to slam my head into the ground. I don't know why I even care, or if the emotions bouncing around in me are jealousy, disgust, anger, possessiveness, sadness, or what.

But Aiden's eyes are glazed, and for the first time I realize he's stoned. The boy I've grown up with wouldn't be saying those crude things, and I can tell he's hurting, filled with shame at being dropped for a boy who's only ever wanted one thing from Chelsea: sex. He's trying to redeem himself, and play the part of the nonchalant womanizer. My hand falls back to my side.

_Callie isn't yours to protect. She doesn't want your help. She despises you. _

"She's okay. But, yeah, let's go out tonight. Bring Ariana and Emily. And your stash." I'm wide awake all of a sudden. My voice sounds different. Harder, gruffer. I sound like an asshole.

I think it's fitting.

* * *

_Callie_

Wyatt insists we go on "an actual date". I told him we already went to the movies, but now he wants to go to some local diner for dinner. I don't even know what we'll talk about the whole time. All the other times we've been alone, there's been something to distract me from having to constantly keep up a conversation. I have nothing in common with Wyatt other than a sharp wit and outsider status.

I was right to be worried. It's Wednesday night, and the diner he spoke of is hopping. We have to wait fifteen minutes to be seated, and the food takes more than twice that time to arrive. I'm starving, leeched of all energy after an eight mile run earlier in the evening. But I'm paying, and Wyatt's ordering crab legs and I'm looking down at my waist, thinking maybe I'll run faster if I cut back on the carbs. I order a salad. It gives me a little thrill to think of the direct control I have over my own body; a control I've never had in any other area of my life. I can't control how many times Jude and I are moved around the state, or what other people assume of me, or how I react to certain situations. But my body is my one sure possession, and I think of how much further I'll be able to run, as I munch on the lettuce like a rabbit.

Wyatt's telling me a story about the graffiti he and his friends managed to tag on a government building or something. It's actually quite interesting, and I'm mid-laugh when the diner's door bangs open.

It's Brandon. He's hammered. He's with some other guy in our grade, Aaron or something, and there a pretty girl on either boy's arm. The girls and Brandon's friend are sloppy drunks, staggering around loudly and talking rudely to the hostess. Brandon is just as he was last Monday night, looser than usual, smiling freely and rather idiotically, but quiet. His hands are tucked away in his pockets, and his head is nodding to a tune only he can hear. There's smudged lipstick on his neck.

The girl on his arm becomes more and more gorgeous the longer I stare. She has silky golden hair that falls in a sheet down her back. Her eyes are a bright blue and her features are delicate and pristine. She has the body of a supermodel, with the butt and boobs of a Kardashian. The worst thing is, she isn't even trashy. She's covered herself up modestly in skinny jeans and a black turtle neck. Her smile is sweet, and she just stands there giggling while the other girl and Aiden (I remember) cozy up to the flustered waitress, pushing her to give them a booth.

She relents, mainly to keep them from disturbing the other customers, and they're moving across the room to a recently vacated booth.

Wyatt is telling me the punchline of his story when I make eye contact with Brandon. He beams at me, inhibitions and awkwardness noticeably absent. He's starting to move towards me, his lips starting to wrap themselves around my name when the blond girl intercepts him with an open-mouthed kiss, right in the middle of the diner. His eyes turn to hers and he slides his hands around her tiny waist, leaning into her. A hint of the grin remains on his lips as they move against hers, hungry and fast.

"You didn't think that last part was funny?" Wyatt is demanding my attention. His mouth is greasy from melted butter, and he has a napkin tucked into his brown t-shirt.

"It was hilarious. Sorry, my head is starting to hurt. Can we leave soon?" I sound like a brat. He consents, asking for permission to finish the last leg on his plate first. "Of course!" My voice is shriller than it should be.

I lift a fork and stab at the remaining lettuce in my bowl. But my appetite is gone.

* * *

Two hours later, I'm sitting on the porch, locked out of the house.

I can't remember where the Fosters keep their spare key, and Stef and Lena aren't answering their phones. They're about three hours away, attending one of Lena's old college friends' wedding. They're not back until tomorrow. Mariana is spending the night at a friend's house and Jesus isn't answering his cell phone. He's probably asleep, and he can't be woken by anything less than high-pitched screaming in his ear and a hard slap on the back.

I won't knock on the door and wake up Jude. He's finally started to sleep the whole night through, and I refuse to ruin his progress.

So I'm waiting for Brandon. Wyatt had driven off before I realized the dilemma I'm in, and I'm too stubborn to ask for his help now. My eyelids are heavy and I'm silently, telepathically, begging Brandon to hurry up with whatever he's out doing with the blond bombshell. I don't want to consider that visual. I've called him already, but he rejected my call. I can just picture it.

They say that if you picture what you dream about, you will most likely dream of it. I lie down on the wooden beams of the porch, knees curled up to my chest. I think about Jude, and his smile, and my mother, and her laugh. I think of the little brown dog we had, back when Jude was just a baby, and how I'd chase him around the yard, desperate to catch him, and pet his soft, fluffy fur, and how I never did catch him.

Then I'm dreaming, and it's the first time in months I have a semi-pleasant dream. Brandon is standing at the end of a tunnel, and I'm running towards him, racing faster than I ever had. My shins are giving out and I hobbling to him on my knees; heavy breathing; thudding heart. My kneecaps split and I'm crawling, propelling myself forward by my elbows. My arms are breaking, the bones fracturing and cracking. I lie there, in the middle of the tunnel, staring at the otherworldly boy before me. He's watching me, his face twisted in regret and sorrow. He doesn't move. He just stands there, and I think I see a single tear rolling down his face before my vision goes black.

For the second time in one week, I'm being shaken awake as I doze on the floor. It's not Jude's face hovering over me this time. It's the boy who's grief-stricken face is still imprinted on my eyelids. I startle.

He's alone.

Instead of getting up from his crouch by my head, he sits down by my side. He slips his hand under my back, and helps me sit up. Neither of us speak. His hand is burning through the fabric of my shirt. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but his touch has the same effect as always. Something is racing through my veins and it won't stop.

"What are you doing with her? You don't think Talya would mind you blatantly cheating on her?" I have to speak before the air becomes too charged to breathe. I probably shouldn't have chosen that as my conversation starter, however.

He removes his hand from me, and he's talking, slowly, and with effort to keep from slurring. His eyes are unfocused and his Adam's apple is twitching in his throat. "We broke up."

_What am I supposed to say to that? _"I'm sorry. What happened?" I sound nosy.

His barriers are down though, dissolved by the beer on his breath. "She thinks I have a thing for every girl I meet. She saw me looking in your direction Tuesday and confronted me about 'my feelings for you'." He chuckles mirthlessly. I've stopped breathing. "I _told_ her you're my fucking sister and I'm as attracted to you as I am to my grandmother, but she wouldn't let it go. According to her, we're both desperately in love with each other and haven't caught onto it yet. I called bullshit, and told her we're through." He's laughing now, hysterically, huffing for air.

Something is squeezing me, tighter and tighter. I can't speak, so he keeps going.

"You hate me. I hate how you're acting. It's pretty simple." His face is tense as he says it, but with one big exhale, he relaxes infinitely. His voice is soft now, and I have to lean forward to hear, although I doubt I really want to know what he's going to say. "I try to be a good big brother. I try, Callie. I wanted you to let me protect you. I want to protect you. But I can't and you won't let me. I see the hurt in your eyes, and I know there's nothing I can do to help. And I'm sorry."

He's done, and I'm speechless. I watch his eyes move along my face, over my jaw, tracing my lips with those deep blue orbs. They're darkening as I watch and his breath is hitching and I'm stuttering, trying to find a response to his drunken rant. And I'm scared. Scared of those dark eyes and those high cheekbones and those soft lips. I want to scream. I want to scream until my voice crumples and he fades into the night and I'm safe. But I'm never safe.

He gets up, standing on unsteady feet. I've gotten used to his silent exits, but this time, he looks back at me after twisting his key in the lock.

"You were saying my name in your sleep. You were asking me for help." He walks away and I'm left on the porch, broken and terrified.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Almost didn't write this today. But it's almost midnight, and I just finished and I'm pretty happy with it. Ignore whatever errors there are. I love my readers enough to stay up late for you (: (midnight is late for me). Brandon is a little dark in his section, but you'll see its a mixture of his hangover and his struggles with feelings for Callie. At this point, a kiss might be possible in the next five chapters. Stay tuned! FEEDBACK PLZ_**

_Brandon_

I wake up in a stranger's house. My head is pounding with a vicious hangover and I'm positioned awkwardly on a stained carpet, sandwiched between two nearly naked girls. The sun is blazing and the room is lit up with bright light. I can make out white walls and a single twin bed in the corner. There are at least three people in it. The room reeks of body odor and alcohol. I do too. I sit up too fast and my brain is hurting, so bad my vision blacks out and I think I pass out for a second or two.

It takes me awhile to make it downstairs, considering the passed-out bodies splayed through-out the hallway. I reach the front door and see Aiden, shirtless and snoring next to Ariana, who is also splayed out on the stained carpet. Brief flashes of last night are starting to come back. Today is Saturday. I'm sure of that at least.

I remember driving here, Aiden in the passenger seat, after a long day of school and Talya sightings and Callie's stare. He was already drunk, but I stuck to my morals just enough to stay sober at the wheel. Then I see a joint being passed to me, and I turn it down, and everybody's laughing, and I'm downing several bottles of beer. Then there are girls kissing me, several of them, I think. It doesn't feel right. I'm not that into it, but it's a distraction, and I keep my eyes open the entire time so I don't start to hallucinate that the body against mine belongs to the girl I want it to be.

Aiden's annoyed when I shake him awake. He tells me he and Ari can get a ride, and then I'm out of that smelly, crowded house. It's still early and I recognize the neighborhood. I'm only ten or so minutes away from home.

I'm pulling onto our street and there's a jogger ahead of me. She's running with a limp, putting more weight on her right leg than her left, and her sneakers are ragged and falling apart. Her brown hair is pulled up tightly on the top of her head, and the ponytail swings back and forth. Her legs are tan and toned, slimmer than two weeks ago. She's breathing hard and she's chewing violently on her lip as she goes. She's sweating and one hand clenches her side with an iron grip. She doesn't look up as I slow to a rolling stop beside her.

I don't know what makes me do it. All this is going to do is worsen my already awful headache.

"Want a ride the rest of the way?" I say, purposely dull and uninterested. That limp is really bothering me, and I can see it's hurting her tremendously. She looks like she'll kneel over any second.

"I don't need your help." Her voice is sharp. I was right. My brain is banging against my skull now, and I'm picturing a dark room and a soft bed to sleep in and it has the same effect on me that porn has on most guys. I'm lusting for the cotton sheets of my bed.

She's picking up her pace and disguising the limp. I imagine Wyatt would persist in offering her a ride, and she would eventually accept. But I'm not her boyfriend, and her well being shouldn't - doesn't - mean anything to me. I'll worry about myself and the grounding I'm bound to get for staying out last night without checking in with Moms.

There's a car turning onto our road behind me, and I can see the driver, a plump, suburban mom glaring at me. I press the gas and leave Callie in the dust. The twinge I feel in my gut is probably just hunger.

Both of my moms are waiting for me in the living room when I walk in. Lena's arms are crossed and she's playing with the TV remote in her hands. Mom is sipping coffee from her usual mug and reading the newspaper. She looks up at me over her reading glasses, which is her favorite intimidation tactic.

Lena starts in first. "Sit down, Brandon. We have to talk to you." She's using her strict, parenting tone, and even in my state, I'm frightened. I rarely, if ever, get in trouble with Lena. Mom, yes, because she's taken on responsibility for berating me for minor things, like not calling Dad when I'm supposed to, or using the washer twice in a row. Lena focuses her attentions on the twins for the main part, since I'm never in the kind of trouble Mariana and Jesus manage to dream up.

I desperately want a glass of cold water and something solid in my stomach. But I can tell this isn't an issue up for debate. I sit, slouching against the sofa, and pray they hurry up and finish the lecture quickly.

Mom's voice is softer than I expect. "B, I know you're struggling with your breakup, and I remember how hard junior year of high school is, trust me. I still have nightmares about SAT prep and all that BS. But your behavior is bordering on unacceptable. We were worried out of our minds this morning when we woke up and you weren't here. The other kids had no clue where you were. I even called Talya. Lena talked me out of going looking for you. In thirty more minutes, I would have been searching the town for you. I'm really disappointed, honey."

Lena chimes in. "As you know, I have easy access to your grades, and I can see that you've been slipping a little. You know we love you no matter what, but Mom and I both know you can do better."

There's a brief pause. They're waiting for me to say something. I keep my mouth shut.

Mom sighs lightly. "Honey, is there something going on? You've changed in these past weeks. I want you to know Lena and I are happy to listen."

I caught off guard. I was expecting a punishment, and now they want to have a therapy session.

How do I tell them I'm not sad about my breakup with Talya? How do I tell them I'm not perfect anymore? That I'm thinking about my foster sister as more than a sister? That she looks at me like I'm a monster? That I might just be a monster. That I'm so scared what the future holds for me. That I don't know what I'm doing. That I'm turning into a drunken asshole. That I'm not worthy of their love. That alcohol has become the only buffer between who I want to think I am and who I actually am. That I've kissed more girls in the past week than either of them has in a lifetime.

"I'm sorry. Nothing's going on. I just crashed at Aiden's. Forgot to call."

I'm told to never do that again and I'm sent to my room. They say they'll decide what to do. I know now they won't punish me. I can see it in their eyes.

A boy like me doesn't need punishment.

* * *

_Callie_

Lena and Stef are going out for dinner tonight. It's been decided that the kids are staying in tonight. No friends over. No boyfriends or girlfriends. They left a stack of movies from the library on top of the TV with a sticky note.

_Sibling bonding night :) Love Moms_

Jesus and Mariana seem to be getting along better. From what I gather, Lexi reached out to the latter, and now Mariana has a best friend again. Jesus seems a little uncomfortable with the situation, but he's trying to make it work. It helps that the Rivera's are finally relaxing about the whole sex ordeal. They haven't been in contact at all, which is a little odd. Lexi mostly comes over here, but not tonight. It's just the twins in the living room. They're sorting through the movies now, laughing at the cheesy ones Lena must have been responsible for choosing.

Brandon's in his room. He's been sleeping all day, since he got home this morning around nine. I have a feeling the whole lock-down situation is his doing. When I got in from my run, Lena and Stef were talking in hushed whispers at the kitchen table. I refuse to ask him though. That would indicate my interest. And I don't care. Not one whit.

Jude and I are in the kitchen now. I'm whipping up some Craft Mac and Cheese from a box for the twins and him. Turkey sandwich for me. Brandon can fend for himself. Probably the first time in a long time he'll have to actually make himself a meal. The neon orange cheese goo is surprisingly appetizing, and I have a hard time dishing out the pasta into only three bowls.

_Think of the running, Callie. You can't run with cheese weighing you down._

I'm taking my first bite of the sandwich when Brandon stumbles into the room. Even now, the night after, it's so obvious to me that he's hungover, and I wonder at how dense his moms are to this kind of thing. I'd expect Stef to notice at least. _Whatever. _

His hair is rumpled to one side, and the pillow has left marks in his cheek, pink creases that mar the otherwise tan skin. His eyes are grayish green today, like a layer of fog over a bed of lush grass. That ridiculous analogy snaps me out of my appraisal of him and I'm angry at myself for the uncontrollable instinct to just drink his appearance in, soak it up feverishly.

The twins are seated at the table as well. Jesus has already inhaled his portion of the mac and cheese, and he's looking at Mariana's longingly. She's picking at it daintily, careful to avoid dropping any of the sauce on her new floral skirt. Jude's halfway through, and he's savoring each bite. The sight triggers memories of the nights and days when we never knew whether we'd go to bed unsatisfied. I push them back, with such force it feels like I'm almost physically exerting myself.

Brandon greets Jesus, then Mariana, then Jude, along with a little shoulder squeeze for my brother. I'm fully expecting him to ignore me.

"Hey, Callie. No more macaroni?" There's an accusation in the question, but also a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and I can tell he knows I left him out on purpose.

It doesn't require an answer, as the pot is sitting in plain view in the sink. I feel compelled to apologize. "Sorry. There's leftovers in the fridge."

I receive a knowing smirk. The table is silent as he pours himself a bowl of Frosted Flakes and milk.

"So, what movie are we watching?" Brandon sits down next to Jude, and directs his question at the twins.

"Either Despicable Me or Red. Jude, you have a vote? It's two to one in favor of Despicable Me so far, and I'm pretty sure Brandon doesn't care, so it's up to you to choose our fate." Jesus is joking, but I can see Jude seriously contemplating the two options, desperate to please us all.

It's decided that we watch the cartoon after Jude pleads out of the vote. Brandon produces some microwave popcorn and slathers it in butter. It smells so good. I don't want it.

Everyone but me gets situated in the living room, big bowls of popcorn on their laps, and fingers greasy. I decide to head upstairs to brush my teeth and get ready for bed before I sit down to watch the movie. They all boo me, with the exception of Brandon, who just watches, but I'm adamant.

I grab some shorts and a tank top from my room and double back for the bathroom. The door closes and I lock it. I always lock the bathroom door. It's a habit I've had for years now.

It's hot in the cramped little room, and I pull off my shirt. I wet my toothbrush, apply the toothpaste and start to scrub. The heat is really starting to get to me. I still have to brush out my hair, and pluck my eyebrows, and a dozen other things I've begun doing recently, ever since I started dating Wyatt. I won't be able to do it if the stuffiness persists. I finally figure it's best to pry the window open. Better that than leave the door open to the hallway where anyone (namely Brandon) could see me primping.

It takes a couple pushes, but I get the window frame up a few inches. I let the gentle breeze from outside caress my face and I'm about to turn back to the mirror when a flash of movement catches my eye.

Someone's standing in the street. They're facing the house. I think maybe it's Stef or Lena, back early from their Saturday night date. But those shoulders are so broad, and the hair is short, and they're so much taller than either one of my foster parents. It's a man. He has a camera. He's broad; so big... Bigger than I remember him being.

Liam.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Having some technological problems. love you all_**

_Brandon_

I can immediately tell something isn't right when I see her face.

Callie was upstairs for a while, and we're ten minutes into the movie. Jude's body is shaking next to mine as he laughs silently. Everything he does seems to be silent, as if he thinks as soon as he makes a noise, we'll all attack.

The bald man is just getting up to answer the door when I look up and she's standing in the doorway. She smiles at Jude, and it's pretty convincing. But I've memorized the emotions that play through those dark brown eyes and I know something really bad is happening. Jesus and Mariana are discreetly watching an episode of Supernatural on Mariana's iPhone and neither of them notices anything out of the ordinary. They're so lovably unobservant sometimes.

Callie isn't moving. She just stands, eyes wavering between me and Jude. Jude's looking up at me, waiting for something. I should probably go to her. I want to so bad. But I can't tell what she wants. And that comes first.

She has pulled out her phone now, and she's texting someone, fingers nimble on the keyboard. It's 99.9% likely she's talking to Wyatt.

I try to ignore her presence and focus on the movie, but Jude knows something is wrong and my phone is vibrating. One new text message. From Callie.

_meet me upstairs. plz. _

There's no chance I'll be able to turn her down. And I don't really want to. But what could she possibly want? There's been a precarious, tense peace hovering between us since my drunken outburst Wednesday night. I'm still not completely positive of what went down, just that it wasn't anything that could _help _our relationship.

I tell the others I have to take a whiz; in those exact words, actually. I'm not in the best mindset to be thinking clearly, and I get an odd look from Jesus, but it's got to be a good episode they're watching, because he goes back to the small screen quickly. Jude doesn't say anything as I stand up. He's watching me though, since Callie's disappeared up the stairs, and I can see a silent plea in his eyes. _Take care of her. _

I wish she'd let me. No... I wish I could.

The stairs seem to go on forever. I don't think I'll ever reach the second story, but I do. Callie's standing at the bathroom door, watching me. She beckons me. Now that Jude and the twins aren't here, she's not trying so hard to keep her composure. Her fingers are twitching and she'll pause from looking at me to scan her surrounding; then back to me. She looks crazy.

I can't be sure if the twist of her fingers is is just a nervous tick, or she wants me to move faster. Either way, I pick up my pace and meet her the door. We're face to face, but the normal tension isn't there. Something bigger is happening. Something much bigger. Her sweaty hand winds around my wrist and she pulls me into the bathroom, behind her, locking the door with a sharp click.

I don't know what's happening. She's so close. She's so warm. She's so pretty, even now, all flustered and frightened.

Then, she's pulling me. Not against her body. She's pulling me to the window.

"Look." Her voice is soft, but there's something more than fear resonating in it. Some primal emotion telling her to hide, to run, to fight, to protect. I don't look out the window at first, caught in the storm waging behind those glistening eyes.

When I do turn to look out at the street, I don't know what I'm expecting. Armed robbers hiding behind the bushes? My moms having sex? _Ew. _Some ancient sea monster slithering across the black pavement?

There's nothing.

"Callie, I don't see anything. What's wrong?" _Was that the right thing to say? What do I do in this situation? Should I see something? Is she having a mental breakdown?_

It's all happening so fast. She's crying and it's like nothing I've ever seen before. The other day, in the rain, it was violent sobs that shook her body. When Talya cries, it's in whining little gasps. Mariana tends to bury her face in something and make muffled noises.

Callie's crumpled on the floor, back against the wall. The tears are falling, streaming down her cheeks and falling off of her jaw. She's making no sound, other than the occasional whimper. She sounds like a puppy being kicked, over and over again, until his ribs cave in and his eyes cloud over. Her whole body is limp and her eyes are squeezed shut. Her shirt has ridden up, and her stomach is going up and down, at a pace that worries me. There are burns, small and circular on her right hip. It looks like... it looks like someone's put out cigarettes on her in recent years. Her eyes flash open when I put a finger to one of the marks, and my face is reflected in her wet eyes. There are tears caught in her eyelashes, looking like dew on a early spring morning. Her eyes are darker than I've ever seen them, and she's flinching away from me, and the sobs keep coming and she thinks I'll hurt her.

I'm retching then, and I barely make it too the toilet before the popcorn is coming up and my dinner and my torso is convulsing, and all I can think of is her pulling away from me, flinching from the physical abuse that never came. It goes on for what feels like hours.

When my stomach is empty and my innards aren't churning, I sit up. Callie is silent now. I didn't even notice that she'd stopped crying. My mouth tastes God awful, and I don't look at her as I hoist myself into a standing position, and wet my toothbrush. She doesn't talk as I clean the bile and partially digested kernels out of my mouth. I'm not even embarrassed.

Then we're both walking, turning into my room, and she's curling up on my bed. I lower myself to the carpet and we sit there in silence, until I can't stand it any longer.

"What did you see, Callie?"

* * *

_Callie_

He wants me to open up. He wants me to trust him. I'm tempted to laugh. It's completely inappropriate, but the urge is stronger than my will at the moment. I snort.

He's angry now, and his blue eyes are blazing. There's bile on his shirt. "You told me to come up here. You asked me to. You broke down in front of me when I couldn't see what you did. You flinched from me like... like I'd hurt you. I just puked my guts out and you're sitting here laughing at me. What kind of screwed up mind game are you playing with me?"

I've never seen him like this. Mild-mannered, sweet, occasionally moody Brandon is yelling at me. And he's serious.

"You don't know me. You have no clue who I am or what I've been through. I made a mistake asking for your help. I see it now. I'm sorry you can't hold your popcorn; I really am. But you are fucking clueless, and you always will be. I have shit going on you couldn't dream of and you're judging me for laughing at your shallow, spoiled ass? Fuck you, Brandon. Fuck your morals and your standards and your sick desire to be someone's hero. You can sit in here, and play piano all day and ignore what's going on out _there _if you so please, but don't look down on me because I'm not as 'perfect' as you think I should be. We're not all golden. We're not all pure and kind and smart and caring and reasonable. So get off your high horse and go fuck yourself." I towering over him, and gesticulating wildly. I realize that I'm not making any sense by the end of it, but I have to keep going. To stop is to admit defeat. "You want to know what I saw out there? I saw a boy, much like you, well off and charming. I saw a handsome boy who raped me repeatedly for months. I saw someone who scared me enough to run to you, and beg you for help, and you're fucking angry at me. Maybe I popped the bubble you've been living in for so long. Maybe we're not all as perfect as you wish-"

His hands are wrapped around my biceps and I'm melting under his grip. The slap doesn't come.

His eyes are darker than I've ever seen them before, and there's something stirring to life in the depths of them. He's bending his face down to meet mine, and his nose brushes against mine. His skin is like satin, with enviably tiny pores. There's just a hint of stubble along his jawline, and his hair is dark and soft. He wets his lips and they're moist and plump and pink. His canines file down to a rounded point. His only blemish is that one little freckle, and I greet it like an old friend.

There's a heat coursing through my body at his proximity, and my legs go weak. I can't move, I can't break his hold on me. I don't want to. There's fire in my gut and it's sinking lower, between my legs and my face is so red and hot, and he's so close and my breaths are coming in fast and short. I can't speak over the lump in my throat.

Then he's speaking and his breath is washing over my face and I'm breathing him in, thinking this same air has been inside of him, and now it's filling my lungs and fueling my heart.

"Don't do this. Don't beat yourself up. I'm going to leave you be from now on. I promise. Just promise me you'll talk to someone you trust about this. You've suffered and I can't help you. I can only hurt you. I don't want you to hate me, Callie. So I'm going to step back, because that's whats best for you. And I am shallow and spoiled and stupid and you need someone so much better. I hope Wyatt can be there for you. If he isn't, find someone better. You need better. I'm a bad brother, Callie. I'm so sorry."

He's that golden boy again and I'm watching his eyes go blue again as he releases me and steps around me. He exits the room without a backwards look, and I'm left in his room, inhaling the smell of him, and eyeing the rumpled sheets of his bed. To just be able to collapse there and never wake up.

"I want to trust you." I say it quietly, but his footsteps in the hallway stop.

* * *

_Brandon_

As soon as she says that, my whole body is screaming at me to run back and grab her in my arms again and never let go. It's not a romantic thing; more just every body cell screaming to comfort her and make her happy and see her eyes lighten and sparkle like they never have before.

But Jesus is calling me from the kitchen, and I know there's nothing I can do for Callie. I'll only screw her up more. She needs a big brother who isn't conflicted about his feelings towards her; who isn't tempted to kiss her every time he sees her; who knows hardship and isn't a selfish, sheltered kid. I don't fit the criteria. And especially since that other foster brother... did that to her.

There's a monster roaring up inside of me, boiling my insides, and my first instinct is to strike out at the nearest person and pummel them into the ground. My body is itching for action. But the nearest person is Jude, and his wide-eyed gaze soothes me a little. I wonder what he knows about Callie's... the rape. The fact that this kid has seen and encountered so much is heartbreaking. I'm not normally sentimental, but I'm full of pity for the boy standing in front of me, confused and worried. I can't empathize, but I can sympathize, and I pat his head as I pass him. He wants answers. He wants to know what happened. I don't have those answers.

I pass the front door and I think of that guy, that stupid piece of shit, watching my family. I want so badly to run out into the dark of the night and kill him. If he was here.

Jesus is having trouble in the kitchen. He's searching for the popcorn bags and has had no luck so far. I watch him struggle for a bit, then fetch it for him.

"Thanks, man. Mariana says I'm being a pig, but I am seriously... Dude. What the hell is up with you?"

I'm still working on the whole dishonest / lying / disguising emotions thing. "Nothing much."

He has a straight face now. It's rare to see him so sincere, and I want to savor the moment. I can't, however, due to what he says next. "Is it something with Callie? Or is it Talya? Don't think I didn't notice you slipping away five minutes into the movie. I was just too tactful to call you out. And Dean had a really sick scene. There was like some underwater monster attacking him and Sam..."

Silence. He soldiers on.

"In all honesty, I think you'll enjoy the single life. I miss it sometimes. But I love Lexi. Something's up with her though. She's been acting weird lately. And she's always in the nurse's office. But we're talking about you. Forget that."

I want so badly to tell him everything. I want someone to know the jumble of emotions constantly coursing through my brain. But he apparently has problems of his own, while not on quite as grand a scale.

_Yeah, um, about Callie. I'm extremely attracted to her, and I just want to be around her and protect her, but I can't help her at all because she was raped and I don't know what to say to that, and she thinks I might hurt her, and she has burns on her hips and she's been through hell and I want to be there for her but I can't, and it's wrong that I feel this way about my foster sister, and she's losing weight, and I'm so out of my league and my grades are dropping, and I haven't practiced my piano in days. _

Yeah. That would go over well.

"Callie just wanted me to kill a spider. I stopped to check some email. And I don't care about the breakup, dipwad. You're turning into a girl, with all your drama. I'm sure Talya is just on her period or something. Chill, dude."

He doesn't believe me. He's a pretty smart guy. "Whatever, Brandon. But I'm here if you need to talk."

_I do need to talk._ "Go watch the movie, Miss Foster."


	13. Chapter 13

**_The last part is dramatic, yes, but take a moment and try and place yourself in that situation. I know you're picking up on Callie's eating issue, and I promise, this story won't turn into the trails of an anorexic, but I feel like that's how I'd cope if I was in that situation, and I feel like it makes sense that Callie would too. It gets better, Promise. _**

_Callie_

Brandon is as distant as a foster sibling can possibly be. He takes his meals in his room, having convinced Stef he's got to practice more and go to bed earlier. She and Lena give him his space, trying to demonstrate that they still trust him. I love them, but they have a blind spot when it comes to Brandon.

It's pretty obvious he's sneaking out nearly every night. We live in an average town, and there clearly aren't parties every night, so he must go to a friend's house and get drunk. Somehow, he manages to find enough alcohol so that every morning when I wake up, he's hungover and out of it. He's late to shower, late for breakfast, late for school. He's falling apart. I don't know what his problem is, but I recognize the signs. My symptoms are slightly different.

Everyday, I run, further and faster. There are dozens of injuries littered along my body, but they can't stop me. Since that Saturday night, I've been seeing him everywhere. The cashier at CVS is him for a split second. The beefy senior with a locker near mine is him. The paperboy is him. I can't sleep most nights, and I go out, and let the street lights guide me. Sometimes I see Brandon, in the early hours of dawn, returning home. I don't say hello. He doesn't greet me.

My legs are infinitely different from three weeks ago. I hear girls complaining at school about getting thinner and into better shape. "It's so hard!" They say. It's not. Run. Just run until there's nowhere left to go and you think you're dead and floating along the ground, and you black out and wake up and there's that feeling all in you. That feeling you get when you know you're unstoppable and you're better then them all and the world is beneath you. It only lasts so long, but it's enough.

I'm not scared of Liam. I'm scared of how what he did to me is going to shape my life. I scared of the power people I love have over me. I'm scared that I'm too scarred to ever truly love or be loved.

He's out there somewhere. I _know _he was there Saturday. It's been over a week, but he's out there. For now, I just run until I've surpassed the wind and all I can see is the earth moving under me, and that narrow face with the one little freckle is blown away on the breeze.

* * *

When I catch Mariana smoking a joint out our bedroom window, I'm flabbergasted.

What happened to the Brady Bunch? What happened to the tight-knit, multi-ethnic family I walked in on that first day. I'd been mildly impressed by the normalcy of Stef and Lena's relationship and the affection that was evenly distributed to each of the kids. Mariana seemed bratty, but she had a good head on her shoulders and an amazing twin brother, and sweet best friend. Jesus was funny and relaxed. He stood up for his moms when I called them dykes, but he was nice about it. Brandon was the sweet, handsome oldest brother, an honor roll student and excellent pianist. It was so clear that he loved those twins like they were his own flesh and blood, and that first night, I'd already decided I wanted him to love me like he loved them.

Now Brandon's getting drunk every night and it has something to do with me. There's something seriously wrong with Lexi, but Jesus hasn't caught on. And Mariana must have made some great friends in the weeks she wasn't talking to Lexi. Smoking pot is so not a Mariana kind of thing to do. She wants so desperately to make a future for herself, the kind her mother would never have.

She looks up at me when I walk in, mouth open, breathing out smoke. There's surprise and shame on her face, but also a kind of defiance. She doesn't want my judgement and I understand that.

"What's up?" She's acting calm.

"Not much." I walk away. I'm not violating my probation again, even though being rid of all these vicious thoughts banging around uselessly in my skull sounds incredibly appealing. Besides, marijuana increases appetite, and I'm not risking that. My discipline is at an all time high. Lena has started to remark on the diet of fruits, vegetables, and lean meat I've thrown myself into, but she's not prying. As I said, they're trying this whole 'trust your kids' approach. I think it works nicely for my situation, but I wish they'd catch Brandon red-handed. He's the one who needs help, not me.

I hate that he knows at least one of my biggest secrets. It wasn't the reaction I had expected either. I figured he'd try to comfort me weakly, or drag me to his moms, or make a move on me. He didn't. He walked away from me and told me to 'get help'. He basically said I'm too fucked up for him, and he's done with my bullshit. Better than tattling, I suppose.

I'm being unfair to him. He cared. I saw it in his eyes. But it's easier to pretend he doesn't care than to try and sort through what happens next if he does care. Because it's getting harder and harder not to find him alone and ask for him. All of him. His brain, his soul, his burning passion that so rarely surfaces. That's what scares me the most, in all honesty. The fact that he could make me so happy. But he could also screw me up past the point of no return. If I gave in, if I followed the throbbing, broken cavity in my chest, it'd be the end.

Wyatt is a nice distraction from life. He must be Googling conversation starters, because things are starting to flow more naturally. He's the only person I know will definitely make me smile, whether it be by a corny, offensive joke, or a clumsy fall in public, perfectly orchestrated for the highest humor level. He compliments me on my slimmer figure and holds me back from temptation by ordering salads when we go out. He says he pigs out when he gets home.

If home is the right word for where he lives. It's a rundown apartment in the worst part of town. I've only been there once, but the smell of cat shit and mold is pretty memorable. I can't picture him sleeping there, let alone eating there. It's probably why he spends most of his time with me, at the beach, by the pier, or at the Foster house. He doesn't talk much about it, but I know his family is struggling to pay rent for even that crappy little dump. I can empathize.

Maybe it's the pressure weighing on his relatively broad shoulders, but he's gotten pushier about the physical stuff. Half the time, I'm fighting him off from going past the waist. He presses his lips down on mine, and keeps trying, but he always listens when I tell him to stop. That's the difference between him and Liam.

Sometimes when he's kissing me, I can almost feel his body morphing under mine. His arms are wirier, and his body lengthens. His torso pulls in, and what little flab he has is suctioned away. His skin is no longer oily, but smooth to the touch, with just enough roughness I know it's a man. His hair grows into his head and it's no longer a washed out dirty blond, but brown and softly curled and so perfect you just want to bury your face into his scalp and stay there, weird as it sounds. His crotch no longer digs into my thighs and hurts the already sore muscles. Wyatt becomes Brandon and whenever that happens, I have to pull away and remind myself the boy in my arms is harmless; and his kisses are average; and his face is average; and he's safe.

Wyatt has pulled out condoms on me several times. Each time, I say the same thing. _No. _And he listens. How odd.

That's the exact situation later in the day, after I found Mariana, and I've called Wyatt to meet me at the beach. And he's in a bad mood, having just found out his mom lost her job as a cafeteria lady at a local elementary school.

This time, when I say no, he's bitter, and rejected, and horny, and annoyed, and lashes out. "Saving yourself, Callie? Don't lie. We both know you're not a virgin. If you gave it up to some other guy, why not me?"

_How does he know? Is there something about me that screams 'Spoiled Goods'?_

The tears are welling up. Everything he said was true, and that hurts so badly. I'm rotten. I'm a whore.

_No you're not. _Brandon's voice is in my head. What the actual fuck?

But it triggers something in me, and I'm up and storming away. _It wasn't my fault. I was a _child_!_ Wyatt's calling after me, apologizing, desperate for a little more action, even if he doesn't get what every guy ultimately wants.

Life would be so much easier if I was a lesbian. The thought is intriguing, but I know I can't change my sexuality. I'm stuck, stuck with this opposite gender that I don't understand in the slightest. They hurt you, then flash that boyish grin at you, and you're stuck thinking they'll change. But they never do.

I run home, even though I've just got tennis shoes on. Its close to six miles, and I'm not wearing the right bra or shorts or shirt. But the push and pull of my muscles clears my head. I'll go back to Wyatt. I always do. He's an asshole, but he's safe. He's also my only friend, so that works in his favor. He'll text me, and have something clever rehearsed for me Monday morning at school. And I'll punch his arm, smile flirtatiously, and we'll go back to the same old routine.

Lexi is over for dinner tonight. She doesn't look happy, and she's arguing with Jesus quietly as Lena dishes out the pork chops and rice. She know to give me a half pork chop and no rice by now. I smile and thank her.

The argument appears to be escalating, and Stef talks over them in an effort to ease the tension. "We haven't seen you in a while, Lexi! What's been happening in your world."

Jesus cuts in before she can respond. He's worked up, and I've never seen him like this before. "Do say. I'd love to hear. I never see my own girlfriend. She's constantly slipping away to do..." He gives Lexi a pointed look. "What exactly?"

It's like watching a train wreck. I watch Lexi go red, and she's so angry, but there's an even greater sadness below that. I can see it all bubbling to the surface and she's trying to shove it down, but it won't be stopped. She's taking a deep breath and blurting her secret out for us all to hear.

"I have cancer, Jesus, you fucking shit! I've got cancer, and I'm dying, and I'm in pain, and I just want to be with you for the time I have left, but... I'm not cheating on you, you stupid prick! I'm trying to live as long as I can so I can be with you. Because I love you. And you've never once told me that. And I've got less than seven months left, and there's no chance I'll make it and I just need you to pull your head out of your ass and love me for all you're worth, because soon I'll be gone and then you can move on. But I need you now." She's crying and I've dropped my glass and it shattered and we're all frozen in place. "Please Jesus."

Her hands are on the hem of her shirt, and she's lifting it up and her stomach is mottled and bruised. Her ribs are sticking out, and there are lumps visible under her battered skin. I'm jealous of how thin she is for a split second.

Jesus is screaming and I've never seen someone like this before and I'm scared and entranced and it's all unfolding around me. Mariana is sobbing, and her head's down and there's meat juice in her hair. Brandon is still, shocked, he's not moving and he's watching his sister and brother react and it looks like his heart is breaking right in two. He catches my eye and my hand is meeting his, and we hold hands across the table as my family's whole world comes crashing down.


	14. Chapter 14

**_It's been a while. I needed some inspiration. And the promo for the summer finale did just that. Thanks to all my reviewers as always (:_**

_Brandon_

It's been two weeks since Lexi's revelation. I don't think any of us are back to normal, least of all Jesus. He's over her house every day. Her parents no longer care about their sexual activity. She's not in school anymore, but she's not in chemotherapy either. One day last week, when she was over our house, playing video games with Jesus, she explained it all to me.

She was so matter-of-fact, as if talking about someone other than herself. She gripped Jesus's fingers tightly. "It's not treatable. I don't know the specifics, just that the tumors are too far along to get rid of. I'm trying some experimental drug from Sweden or somewhere, but my doctors say there is little chance it will work. I'm just supposed to make myself comfortable."

I don't know Lexi all that well. She's been over my house for years, since Mariana and Jesus came to live with us. I had no clue she was hooking up with Jesus. I'm not sensitive to that kind of stuff. And I didn't care. My focus was on school. Piano. Talya.

It's sad to think, watching her and Jesus, that if she never had gotten cancer, they would have broken up sometime in the near future. Just because high school relationships don't last. I always saw them as a short-term kind of couple; passionate and intense for a short stretch of months. I think she knows that too. I think she knows Jesus isn't 'the One'. But she's got less than a year to live, and they'll be together to the end. Because it'd be inhumane to dump a dying girl. That just goes against any guy's morals.

Jesus really does love her. He doesn't know that five years from now, in a parallel universe, she'd be a distant memory; a high school fling. Now, she's the single most important thing in his life. I don't think anyone can ever forget this kind of situation. On the day he weds some faceless girl ten years from now, he'll think of Lexi, and what could have been.

Mariana has withdrawn from life. I see her at school, and sometimes she's with Lexi, pain evident in her eyes, and sometimes she's with a crowd of stoners. I want so badly to stop her, to smack those poorly rolled joints from her pink nails. I want to walk over, and drag her away and make her face the best friend she's ever had, and actually be there for her.

But who am I to talk? I'm still drinking every night. Moms must know. Or they're too preoccupied with everything else going on. Either way, I have no right to rag on Mariana. I'm turning into that guy I never wanted to be. The guy who only hangs out if you're supplying beer. The guy who's got a new conquest for every night of the week. The guy who isn't going anywhere.

I'm trying to change. So badly. Just a month or two ago, my idea of a wild night was hanging out alone with my girlfriend. I was so different. _What changed?_ Callie.

No. That's not right. I changed. I fucked up, and I'm still fucking up. Maybe I'm genetically inclined to turn to alcohol when the person I want doesn't want me. It happened to my dad.

But it's not an unrequited crush. That isn't responsible for my mistakes. It's the asshole, the loser, the drunk, that I've buried down for so long. I've tried so hard to be a good son, and brother, and boyfriend. But failing Callie... that broke me. She needed a good big brother. I let other feeling surface. And I've probably scared her; scared her even more than she already was.

She thinks I'm just like him. Her other brother.

I'm not. I will prove it.

For starters, I'm not going out tonight. I'm staying in.

There was no one moment of clarity that made me decide to change. The thought just drifts into consciousness, and before I know it, I'm heading out of my room.

* * *

I pick up on it for the first time when I come downstairs for dinner. It's the first time I've joined the family for a meal in weeks. They're all eating. Scratch that. Everyone but Callie is eating. She has an untouched meatball on her plate. Her glass of water is nearly empty. She's overly engaged in the conversation, waving her fork around enthusiastically. No one seems to notice she isn't eating.

I'm studying her. She looks pretty, her hair soft and down around her shoulders, waved softly in the front. Her brown eyes are sparkling. She's got on a new top, Aeropostle or something. She shouldn't be real. I've never met anyone who takes my breath away. She does.

But her cheeks are too pronounced. I always admired the softness of her skin, and now it looks dry and pale, stretched tightly across her frame. Her arms, moving in the air, are thin, the soft flesh gone. It's not right. She's not supposed to look like that. Her collarbones are casting shadows on her chest. Her veins are visible under her translucent skin. They're pounding. Up and down. She's small. Too small. Smaller than when she was fresh out of juvy. Smaller than a week ago. Smaller than three days ago.

It's all coming together at once. I've been so absent these past weeks, my view of her is clearer than if I'd been around her all the time. Unlike Jude and Lena and Mom, I can see the difference. I can see the dullness deep beneath those sparkles in her eyes, and I know what she's trying to do, talking loudly, distracting the others from her plate. And her empty mouth.

She's not anorexic. But she will be. Soon.

I'm angry. Angry at my moms for letting me drink myself into oblivion so I couldn't see this girl falling apart faster than I am. Angry at them for giving her the freedom to run, run so far she's morphing, and eat so very little. Angry at Wyatt for not taking care of her. If he loved her, he'd care enough to recognize the signs. Angry at Callie. Because I want to be there for her and neither of us will let me be. Angry that she's so broken and now she's breaking herself; physically and with vengeance. I'm angry at Mariana and Jesus and Jude and her birth parents and every single other person who's let this happen to her.

"Brandon. Come join us." Lena looks so happy to see me, here in the world of the living. "We just started. How's the practicing going?"

She really has no idea. She's not stupid, though. Something's got her and Mom too busy to notice their own son is fucking up his life, one day at a time.

Callie's done telling her story, and she's cutting that meatball into tiny little pieces. I'm sitting down. Those little pieces are being placed in her mouth, excruciatingly slow. She closes her eyes as she swallows, as there is nothing to chew. I watch her throat bob. I want to scream.

Lena gets up to serve me. The conversation is halting. Jesus is not here. He's our big talker most of the time. Mariana is silent, Jude is silent, I am silent. It's just Callie, Mom, and Lena. I'm done quickly. They're discussing some English project the junior class has to do next month. It sounds difficult.

"Could I go for a walk around the neighborhood in a little bit?"

It's Callie. She's relaxed. She knows what they are going to say.

"Of course! Just be back before dark, and watch out for the cars. We've got some speeders on our road." I want to kick Mom._ How is she so oblivious? _

I'm going to retreat back upstairs, but Lena wants me to do dishes, seeing as I've neglected chores for a while now. I'm not annoyed. The hot, scalding water racing over my skin, leaving me red and pure, is just what I need. There's a little itch in the back of my head, telling me I need a drink; that it'll make me forget about what I'm slowing starting to grasp about Callie. She's gone upstairs now; no doubt getting ready for her 'walk'. But I focus on the sponge and the suds and I keep scrubbing.

Callie's out the door right before I put the last pot on the drying rack. I go to head upstairs, but Jude's intercepting me. He's not happy, and I can tell some of it is directed at me.

I'm almost expecting him to confront me about how I've been acting. It's a ridiculous thought, but the way his eyes are blazing right now, I wouldn't be surprised. I'm shocked when he makes me bend down and whispers in my ear.

"Go after her. Stop her. Make her stop." There's no question as to who 'she' is. We both know. How much he knows, I am unsure of. But his eyes are just like his sister's, and I know I've got to do it. Her life is at stake here.

* * *

_Callie_

I've just hit that point in my stride, the point where the soreness disappears and my muscles are numb, just chugging along like an engine.

"Callie!" He's at least ten feet behind me.

_Fuck. _I can't deal with this right now. I saw him watching me. He wasn't distracted by the talking, or the gestures. He saw right through me. Same as always.

I pick up the pace. The burning starts again. I can't change my pace like that, suddenly and substantially, without repercussions. The world is racing by, like I'm the still one, and the trees and shrubs and pavement are all bypassing me without looking back. I can hear him calling my name, and he's like a Siren, and I want to obey and fall back to him. But I can't stop running, because once I do, I have to confront everything waiting for me. And not one whit of that is good.

He's closing in on me. I'm struck by fear, but it makes me run faster; adrenaline is present in every cell.

But I'm pushing too hard, and he's too quick, fueled by some source of power that brings him up behind me and allows him to wrap a hand around my bicep. We're both running now, linked at one point.

He's so strong though, and he plants his feet, and it hurts as my arm is whipped back in my momentum, and I'm crying out and twisting around. He's horrified. He lets go just like that. But I won't be able to keep running. I can feel it in my bones. I settle for launching myself at him; kicking and scratching every inch of that firm runner's body. Why does he get to look like that? The only exercise he gets is boning whores.

He doesn't fight back, and I draw blood after a couple of seconds. I still my body, watching the red well up and ooze slowly out of the wound. There's a bit of his skin caught beneath my fingernail. I could clone him if I wanted, since I'm now in possession of his DNA.

The thought is so obscure that I laugh, and I can't stop. I'm hysterical. I sink to the ground, middle of the street. It's getting dark out early tonight. Maybe Lena and Stef will come for me. I want to go home. I'm tired.

Brandon sits down next to me. The road is quiet. We're safe for now. His shoulder is against mine. I shift, and we're back to back. He's so solid. I lean against his warmth and let it soak through my thin tank top.

"I know what you are doing Callie. I see you. You're killing yourself slowly. I-I can't let you do this. You have to stop. Jude wants you to stop. He sees you Callie. We know. And we care."

His voice is so soft. I want to melt into it. He's obviously not used to emotional talks of any kind, and he's awkward. When I hear Jude's name, I have to hold back a whimper. He doesn't need to worry about me. I'm fine. I'm just working to control myself a little better. Brandon is paranoid. But he sounds so concerned, so certain that I'm in danger, and he wants so badly to step in and help. But we both know he can't. Partly because there is nothing he needs to help me with, and partly because he's still a sheltered innocent at heart. He's a boy trying to be a man. The closest he has come to hardship is divorce and the illness of an acquaintance. He knows nothing about what is going on here.

But he's so sincere. "Callie, what happened to you was awful. That boy doesn't deserve to go to jail. He deserves worse. But none of that was your fault. None of it. I can't pretend to understand what it was like. I don't. I just know that you can't take this out on your body or your health. There's still time to move on, and experience the better things to come. I-I don't know what else to say. Just don't not eat and don't run too much. Because you're not just hurting yourself. You're hurting Jude. And Mariana and Jesus and our moms and Wyatt." I feel him inhale, the movement rocking his back against mine. "You're hurting me."

I'm spinning around on my butt, like we used to do in elementary school, on the black pavement. When my thigh bumps into his, I lift my body and straddle him. He's almost panting now, those eyes flashing green and then dark, black, and I figure out what it means when they do that. He wants me.

My hands are knotted in his hair. I'm pressed up against him, and he's moving to make me more comfortable. We're locked together, and the key is gone, broken along with my heart. It's tearing in my chest, even as he runs his hands over my back. When his fingers glide over the bumps of my bra strap, he sucks in a breath. I'm breaking, and he's so whole, so perfect and full of everything as he touches his forehead to mine and I'm pretty sure my eyes are dark now too. His hands are raising goosebumps along my shoulders. I forget to be self-conscious about my thighs and stomach and flab, and I'm just trying to memorize the feeling of his hard, powerful body under mine. I can feel that he's aroused, and I shift on his waist. There's a little moan.

And then we are kissing. I can't describe it. His lips move against mine, so gently I want to pin him down and make him kiss me harder. He's holding me, cradling me, like I'm precious. Like I'm worth something. He tastes so sweet, like apples and cinnamon and it makes me hungry. But not just for food. I'm hungry for him.

I'm pulling him closer, as close as humanly possible. I can't think about the fact that we are in the middle of a road, even if it's rarely used. I can't think about how wrong this is. All I know is him, and his eyelashes against my cheeks and his warm palms on the small of my back, and the tendons of his neck, and the way his lips can move; like he's been trained for this all his life. But it's not robotic. There's some emotion welling right beneath his skin, and he's pouring it out into me; through our linked bodies like electricity is flaring in the night.

Picture any book. Picture any make out scene in it. Nothing can compare. He's perfect, and it's a positive thing all of a sudden. Neither of us has even opened our mouths, and I feel like I'm going to explode. I can't take this. I want him so bad; he matters so much; and those thoughts are zipping through me and I can't grasp how it's even possible to feel this much all at once. I'm so happy, and it scares me into reality. I'm remembering Liam and the weight of his bulk on me and how he could be watching us right now. And Brandon's moving his lips along my jawline, and my eyes are snapping open and I'm realizing that there are tears coursing down my face, and he's just noticing too, and his lips are slowing, and he's going to stop. He's going to look at me, with that look. That look of surprise and pity and confusion. He's going to say to himself, 'That's one screwed up girl.'

I push him off before I succumb to the fire that's been ignited in my bloodstream. His eyes are like crystals when they open, so clear and childlike. I feel like I've just corrupted him. I feel like I've just screwed him up nearly as badly as Liam did to me.

"Callie?" His voice is hoarse and rough, and those eyes are clouding up, and he's loosening his grip, and he's so clueless and sweet. He's worried. About me.

I'm off of him, and his arms are slipping away, and I'm running.

He doesn't follow.


	15. Chapter 15

**_I only have one thing to say: David Lambert gets NAKED in his new movie, the Lifeguard, according to tumblr... SAM WE ARE GOING. oh and i promise the whole eating disorder plotline will be resolved soon, but it'll be realistically concluded. Guess who's gonna help her turn it around?_**

_Callie_

It's hard to get up. It hasn't been easy for weeks; my bones always grinding, and my eyelids hard to pull apart. Today, it's especially hard. I've already had my run this morning, but I could only make it four miles, so I had time to take a nap when I got back and showered. My body's starting to fail me. And that was the one thing I'd always been able to count on: my ability to keep moving. When Liam was suffocating me with his mass, and my vision had tunneled so that all I could see were his dull, empty eyes, I _knew_ morning would eventually come, and I'd walk away, even if only for a little bit. I could escape. When he let me.

Mariana's still sleeping. She's facing me and she's relaxed; sweet. She looks like a fifteen year old girl with a loving family. Her hair has fallen into her face, and several strands stick to her pouting lips. She's really beautiful without her usual look of frustration and anxiety. Over the night, the tension has seeped out of her, and she glows like the day of her Quinceanera, before everything went down.

That was so long ago. In the months since then, so little has happened, and yet my life is forever changed. _My fault._

Someone - probably Stef - is making bacon. I can smell it from here._ I'm not hungry. I'm not hungry. I'm not hungry._ It's odd for Stef and Lena to make breakfast on school mornings. It can probably be explained by their new parenting approach, but I don't feel like pondering it. My breakfast is already prepared and in a little plastic baggy, with the nutrition information printed in my cramped handwriting along the base of the bag.

Dressing has also become a chore. I'm cold from the dampness of my hair, and from the chill that's invaded me to the core. It's lingered on inside of me for weeks now, and nothing but the burning water spurting from the bathroom's rusty shower head can contain it. And when I'm standing under the current, the steam fills my lungs and I think I'm floating, and I might just rise to the ceiling. But then I'd be trapped up there, curled against the moist tile with no where to go.

So as I dress, I'm worrying about whether the blouse and jeans I have on will keep me warm enough, and whether I have a belt to keep the pants from falling to my ankles. There's also the fact that all at once, I want people to notice how much control I have over myself, while they are slaves to the cravings they encounter, but I also want to hide the bulges left on my body. Just a few more weeks.

I'm waking Mariana and she's mumbling to "shut the fuck up" and I leave the room hastily, boots in hand and shirt halfway buttoned.

The hallway is quiet. Brandon's door is open. Something draws me to it, and one foot is moving in front of the other. I still haven't thought much about that day last night. I've gotten pretty good at erasing things from my mind. But not so good that there isn't a residue left, surfacing when I've let my guard down. I think about the feel of his lips and the soft moans that escaped his mouth when I'm lying in bed at night or when I'm eating things I shouldn't or when I'm under that flow of water, and I can almost taste him in those moments.

I figured it out. He's like food. Food can make me feel so good and so strong and so happy. It's an addiction and I think about it constantly. It's always there in the back of my mind, urging me to give in, to loose control. There's this constant ache inside of me begging for it, for him. I know I shouldn't have it, but I need to. Just like I need Brandon. So, just as I hold the need at bay with just enough food that I can function, I allow myself three moments a day to take him in. To eat him in and let my body and mind have their fill of what they crave. The ache is still there, and it still kills me with how wrong it truly is, almost exactly like how I beg my body to understand that food only does harm and slows you down and ruins you. But my body craves calories and my mind and heart crave him and I give them just enough to keep going.

I drink in the sight of him greedily. He's mainly under his blankets, and he looks so warm and comfortably I want to crawl in beside him. He's got on a blue v-neck shirt, and the tan skin of his chest is partially marred by a red crease mark around the hollow of his throat. He probably just rolled over in his sleep. He looks serious even now with his hair haphazard and pale skin. His face is painful to look at. He's so handsome. He has the looks of a movie star, minus the effort and falsity. At the same time, he reminds me of Jude, the way he clutches his blankets to his chest, and tucks his knees back. He's twitching slightly, his fingers clenching and his lips moving softly. He doesn't look like he has the power to hurt me.

But he does. And he will.

My time is up for the moment, and I continue on down the hallway, buttoning the plaid monstrosity I have on, and shuffling into my boots. I run into Jesus as he's coming out of his and Jude's room.

"Hey."

He's startled, his eyes unfocused, but he responds quickly. "Hey Callie. Nice shirt."

"It's definitely a winner. I thought you'd like it." We're back to the usual quick banter that's become the trademark of our relationship. Jesus is so easy to talk to. He's facing some pretty deep shit, and he still finds the time to be the nicest of the Foster kids. He's the stable one in this family. Go figure.

He excuses himself and heads for the bathroom, blaming the burritos he had last night for the interruption. I'm disgusted, but the overload of information makes me extremely happy. The fact that you're going to take a messy shit seems like something you'd tell family members. Does he consider me family? Jude never acts that way around me, although that's just his personality. I don't think he knows how to joke. Brandon certainly doesn't share the intimate details of what goes on when the bathroom door closes behind him.

I'm laughing, and the movement of my stomach muscles reminds me of how hungry I am. I make my way gingerly down the stairs, overly aware of the pull and tug of my quads. It's a weird experience; to feel as if you know exactly what is happening under the surface of your skin; to be able to visualize your internal organs clear as day.

Stef offers me the plate of oily, sizzling pig fat and it's so fragrant. I have to hold my breath against the stench. I shake my head no, twice, crisply, and she looks disappointed. It's always the same look, whether I'm turning down bacon, or milk, or ice cream, or pizza. Like she's annoyed I'm taking care of my body. I mean, she eats all that stuff, and still looks pretty good, but her butt is too large for my liking, and her boobs sag just slightly. She's still gorgeous, but she just hasn't discovered the wonders of a little self-control.

She doesn't say anything as I grab the apple slices I've stacked in the back of the fridge. My thumb covers the Sharpie markings. Only when I'm seated at the wooden table in the kitchen do I realize that Lena is nowhere to be seen, and her signature coffee mug is rim-down in the cabinets.

"Where's Lena?" I can't really focus on Stef's answer, as I've just taken a bit, and the sweet moisture of the apple floods my mouth. The beast in my gut wakens and it's screaming for more. That's how it is. As soon as you toss it a scrap, it'll fight you for everything. I manage to catch something Stef says about Lena taking the day off for some conference, but her voice is the background to my body's struggle.

One thing she says does draw my attention. "You'll all be riding with Brandon to school today."

* * *

Somehow, it was unanimously decided that I got shotgun. Most likely because I'm the second oldest. Mariana doesn't complain. She's leaning against the window, silent, but she's holding Jesus's hand and I can see him channeling his strength into her. They hardly ever talk now, but when they're together, it's clear that he's still supporting her, playing the role of the dutiful big brother, even though they're the same age. He seems so much older than her in some ways.

Jude's watching the twins interact silently, just as I am, and he's got the ghost of a smile on his face. It's so clear that he adores them. Not in the same way he loves me, but still.

Brandon has his eyes on the road. He's gnawing on some granola bar, having gotten down too late for breakfast. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he chews a couple times and swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing with the effort. Those calories are going into him without a second thought. The worst thing is, they'll just turn to lean muscle on him or evaporate completely, squeezing out through his pores. Just another thing he doesn't have to worry about. He isn't supposed to have no flaws. Someone or something messed up when he was created.

Then he's talking to Jude about Jude's teacher, and Jude unintentionally makes Brandon laugh with his reply. Brandon's eyes crinkle with the motion, and it strikes me that I've never seen him really laugh. I've seen smiles and snickers, but never this. There's chewed up granola in his mouth and his eyes are blue today, murky and twisted.

He pulls in to the school's parking lot, and as he turns to look out my window, he catches my gaze and he's caught mid-laugh, and I'm just thinking _his eyes are so pretty__ and look at the way the dimple in his chin starts to show and that granola would taste really good and-_

There's a car honking and he tears his eyes away to focus on swerving out of the way of a pissed off black guy waving his arms out of the window. He slips into a spot, and we're all out and going in different directions, and I'm watching his back retreating to one of the entrances by the south side. Two girls are waiting for him and they greet him with hugs, pressing their tits against his chest with gusto. I can't see his face, but I'm sure he's smiling. Or maybe even laughing.

On the way to my locker, I pass some freshman reading a Twilight novel. She's sitting against the wall, oblivious to the rush of feet around her. I remember when that book was the big thing. One thing always bothered me about it though. Since Edward had such good senses, what happened when she was on her period? Did he have to smell that all day since his nose is so powerful? Or what if Bella farted? He would hear and smell from up to a mile away? How could a relationship like that even work if every disgusting body function us humans try to disguise in the effort to appear appealing was highly noticed by your lover? It's such a stupid thought, but the idea's always bugged me. I mean, no wonder Bella didn't feel deserving. She's a sweaty, smelly, hungry human being with a crush on a godlike boy.

One of the great things about not eating a lot is I rarely ever go to the bathroom, and I never sweat. Ever. Even on my runs. It's odd. But I love it.

I'm thinking about shitting and pissing and sweating when I open my locker and the paper crammed into one of the vents falls loose. I react slowly, but get it off the floor before anyone can step on it. My fingers meet the surface, and I realize it's a photo, not a flyer. One side is glossy.

I'm turning the square over and my eyes narrow in on the image. It's me. Running. Based on the outfit, just two days ago. My face is red in the picture and I'm in the middle of checking my watch, my one arm suspended at an awkward angle from my body. Judging from the sky, I'm on one of my morning runs. My legs look toned, but my waist looks too wide.

But none of that matters. Because in a swirling, computerized font over the picture, are two words.

_love, Liam_


	16. Chapter 16

**_Long chapter. Hope you like :) SAM I WANT A REVIEW :*_**

_Callie_

The day passes in a blur. My breathing is hitched most of the time, and my heart drumming against my ribcage, shaking me to the core. Even after I saw Liam outside the Foster home, I've denied his return. It was dark that night. I was tired and worn out. The emotional moment with Brandon afterwards could have warped my memory. He would never actually follow me. He's part of my past. And the past can be forgotten.

But he's back, and he hasn't forgotten.

Sitting there in math, Brandon seated right in front of me, I stare at his back, the short wispy hairs at the base of his neck, and the slope of his shoulders, his biceps straining the worn fabric of his t-shirt. A blonde girl is passing him notes, repeatedly while the teacher's back is turned. He replies once or twice, but he seems focused on the practice test, bent over intently and ignoring the whispers of some boy I see him eating with occasionally during lunch period.

The teacher hands a stack of worksheets to the kids in the front row, and they pass the papers back. When Brandon twists to hand the papers to me, he doesn't meet my eyes. Our fingers make contact, and something is shooting through my veins. It feels like I've just taken a hit of particularly dank weed. I'm electric and alive even after he's turned back around, and all I can see is his clean shaven neck bobbing as he scribbles across the worksheet. He hasn't seemed this focused in class for a while.

There's something brewing in my empty stomach, and it's a combination of fear and adoration, entwined impeccably in a knotted mass. I can't tear my eyes off of the sliver of skin visible above the collar of his shirt, and I don't have to, because the memories are flooding in, full force, and his figure is disappearing before my eyes.

_"Hi, I'm Callie."_

_"Hey, my name is Liam. I guess you are my new foster sister." He's looking me up and down, and when we make eye contact, he looks happy with what he sees. He seems so pleased that I'm here, and there's a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He's tall and built like a running back. His shirt looks like it'll snap at the seams any moment, he's so big. There's something off about him, but I've never received such a warm welcome before, which sounds ridiculous, since all he's done is smile and introduce himself. But it's true. And there's that ache in me again, that desperate need for attention, and to be wanted, and to have family. And he seems perfect to supply all three. "Here, I'll show you your room."_

* * *

_We're in the back row of a nearly empty movie theater, watching Shutter Island, which has been out for weeks now. I'm holding an extra-large popcorn, which is all for me, paid for by Liam. He sneaked in a little bottle of liquor and he's sipping from that as the movie unfolds, offering the flask to me every now and then. I don't refuse him. Jude's at home. He wasn't invited. _

_Liam has claimed the armrest between us, his beefy forearm swallowing up the red velvet. His palm is facing upward, towards the ceiling, and he has a loose fist. It almost seems like an offering for me to reach out and grasp it. At the point when Leonardo DiCaprio is scooping his dead children out of the pond, I reach out and meet his hand with mine, and he wraps his fingers around mine, and we sit there as Leo shoots his creepy wife dead on the spot. His hands are sweaty. I take another handful of popcorn._

* * *

_I've just taken a cold shower, since I read in some magazine that your hair is silkier when you wash it in cold water, and I'm freezing. I throw on some pajama pants and a tank top and crawl into bed. Jude is asleep already in his little twin bed in the corner. He's still sucking his thumb, even at eight years old. He says he'll stop every time I tell him to, but that finger always ends up in his mouth eventually. At least it's only at night now. _

_The door sways, and I see Liam standing there. I offer him a bewildered smile. _What is he doing here? I made him promise no interaction in the house. _He's advancing on me, and there's something wrong, because my heart's picking up speed, and I can hear the blood pumping through my body. _

_"Liam. Go away. Do you want to get caught?" I'm hissing and looking over at Jude to make sure he's still asleep. I'd only kissed Liam for the first time just two weeks ago, and since then, it's been blissful. He takes me out for dinner nearly every night, and meets up in the janitor's closet with me at lunchtime to eat together, and I've seen almost every movie in theaters right now. I don't know that I like him romantically, but he makes me feel wanted, and he's showed me aspects of life I've never been able to experience before. I hadn't been to any restaurant other than a McDonald's in over three years. It's like the movie Pretty Woman, and I'm the prostitute he picks out of the gutter. Except I'm not a prostitute. In fact, I'm a virgin, so that parallel doesn't really work._

_He's by my bed now and lowering himself onto the mattress next to me. I'm paralyzed with absolute confusion as he lifts up the blankets and slides underneath them. He's squishing me, and I want to complain and tell him to get out, but he's kissing me heavily, and the notion is still relatively new to me, and I'm caught up in the moment. But when I feel his hands easing the waist of my jeans down, I pull back, and there goes my heart. Thud. Thud. Thud._

_But he's still going, and I'm trying to push him off, and somehow my arms are being pinned down. This must all be a huge mistake. But it's no mistake when he pulls my pants and underwear to my knees and I'm completely exposed. There are sobs bubbling up in my throat now as I start to grasp what is going on. _

_"Stop. Please, Liam. I'm not ready. I can't. Please." I sound so pitiful, hushed tone and all. He pauses for a moment, in the middle of unbuckling his jeans, and our eyes are locked. I can't make out anything but the little glint of mischief I saw when we first met. "Please." _

_And then his hand is over my mouth, and he's hoisting his body up and over me, and in a few seconds, I hear his zipper go down, and there's fabric rustling. _

_And then there's the worst pain imaginable, and I want to scream so loud the roof caves in, and the tears are flowing down my cheeks and over his fingers. And he's grunting, quietly, and I'm hurting so bad, and he's in me, and I want to die. Everything is just so vivid, and I'm so alive. It's one of those moments you can't ever forget. It's the most aware I've ever been of my surroundings. I want him to rupture some internal organ and I want to bleed out, and just fade away. Jude is just feet away, sucking his thumb, and I'm filled with fire that's burning me alive. And it won't stop. And my eyes are running dry and I can't hear anything but my muffled sobs and his animal grunts, his hot breath drying my newly silky hair. _

_And then it's done, and I'm not a virgin any longer, and he leaves without a word. And there's blood on the sheets but I'm scared to move, or even breathe. _

_Jude's waking up at my cries now, and he says to me groggily, in that innocent, little-boy voice, "Don't cry, Callie. We have a good home now. We're safe here. They might even adopt us. And then we'll both have an older brother. And a mom and dad again. Nothing is going to make us leave."_

* * *

_Brandon_

I'm finishing the last problem when Callie rocks my chair as she practically jumps out of her seat. My hand is jolted and my pen makes a mark on the paper. That pen mark is going to annoy me to no end. I'm pissed as well at her disruption of my concentration. I'd just, finally, managed to forget her presence behind me and tune out the tapping of her pencil, and the sound of her exhales. I was making progress, more than anyone else, and I was so close to being the first one finished, and taking back my rightful spot at the top of the class, if only for a stupid worksheet.

It's been hard to ignore her the past fifteen minutes. She was jiggling her leg up and down and the vibrations made it hard to write. She didn't seem to hear when the kid behind her told her to stop. Or she didn't care. She had started breathing heavy in the last few minutes, and now that she was standing, and ruined the neatness of my paper, I had to pay her attention. But she wasn't after my attention.

She scoops up her backpack and something flutters to the ground. I'm reaching for it, but by then, she's already at the teacher's desk and asking permission to leave for the nurse's office. She's out the door before I turn the picture, based on its texture, over.

I'm up and moving, and claiming I need to puke, which I might actually need to do, in no time. I get some weird looks, and a glare from Talya who is smart enough to guess Callie's exit has something to do with mine. I don't care. I would tell the teacher I have explosive diarrhea if that's what it takes to get out of that room.

Liam. That name rings a bell. Talya told me to ask Callie about him months ago, at Mariana's Quinceanera. The photo is clearly taken recently, and while she is unaware of the photographer. I recall the night when Callie thought someone was outside our house. And how, when she was screaming at me in my room, she let slip that the boy she saw outside, was the one who...

I'm running through the hallways now, not caring who sees me. I need to find her. Something is going down. Something bigger than anything I've ever encountered in my sheltered, short life.

A tall glass of cold beer sounds incredibly appealing at the moment.

* * *

By the time I've gone through every hallway, and stood at the door of each girl's bathroom for at least five minutes, I head to the nurse's office, which seems like too obvious for where she'd be camped out. My instincts are right, and the nurse tells me Callieleft the school five minutes ago with a pass to excuse her for the day. She's got period cramps, according to Ms Hendricks. I'm sure.

Ms Hendricks is a family friend of Talya's and she apparently hasn't gotten the memo that we're over, because she readily hands me a pass as well, citing my relationship with her goddaughter as the only reason for her leniency.

Callie's by the beach, out of sight of the school, when I reach her. She's just sitting there, and I'm struck again by the frailness of her body, and the bones protruding as she curls in on herself. I can see every bump in her spine.

Ever since my 'intervention' last week, I've seen no difference. Only now, I can't even talk to her about it, I can't even let myself get near enough to help her, because I can't guarantee what I'll do if I'm put in that situation again. I want so badly to grab her and shake her, and let her hear the rattling of her bones in the shell of her skin, and I want her to see what is happening.

In ninth grade, we were required to read this book, _Wintergirls_, over the summer. It's about this girl who's anorexic and her best friend dies of throwing up too much, and she nearly kills herself from not eating. It didn't mean anything at the time. Now I'm staring at Callie and wondering if she knows the calories for every food, and if she thinks the only thing meaningful is being skinny, and if running is truly the only thing that brings her happiness, other than Jude possibly. I feel the picture in my hand. I haven't let go of it once, and I'm starting to grasp that she's not anorexic like Lia. She's trying to cope with what Liam did to her. And she's doing it the wrong way.

I'm pulling her towards my car, and she's resisting, but she's too weak to really fight back. And I'm angry at her for the fear that's flashing in her eyes right now, but I don't stop until she's in the backseat and I'm behind the wheel, and we're driving to the nearest diner.

It's only a few minutes, and she's silent the whole ride. She's not crying, or whining, or sulking.

"What are you doing Brandon?" She sounds so exhausted. I can see a grey hair as I'm standing over her, having already gotten out.

"We're going to lunch." It's past three. I've already eaten. She hasn't. I'm not stupid. The absence of alcohol these past days has been hard, but my eyes are clear for once, and I'm picking up on the lies she's an expert at telling.

I hold the door open for her, and she obliges. No sigh. No nothing.

We're seated at a tiny round table, and my knees are pushed up against hers. Neither of us speaks until the waitress comes to take our orders.

Before she can open her mouth, I'm speaking. "Two cheeseburgers, two orders of fries, and two chocolate milkshakes. That's all."

* * *

_Callie_

I don't think I've ever been this angry. I'm still reeling from those memories, from those images and sounds and smells that playing over and over again in my head like a broken record. I want to sleep and never wake up. I'm so tired. I'm always tired lately, but the situation is too much to handle. There's a gorgeous boy I hate sitting across from me, trying to fix me, pretending he can erase what happened, pretending he's not just like Liam, and to top it off, the smells of the diner are making my stomach rumble, and it feels like my abdomen is splitting apart, and the pain is second only to those nights two years ago.

I jump just a little when his voice, low and serious, breaks the silence stretching between us. "What happened Callie? The whole story this time."

The diner is empty except for us and the only employee in the room has earphones in and is rocking out to her iPod. Brandon's attention is fixed wholly on me. A bomb could go off and he wouldn't notice.

I'm furious with the undertones of demand in his voice, and the fact that he thinks he has a right to know anything about my life. I kissed him once, and only because he'd caught me in a vulnerable moment, and he'd enchanted me with his magical voice and carefully selected words that actually made me think he cared. He'd bewitched me with the sweetness of his lips and the softness of his kisses and the gentle, unassuming movement of his hands over my back. He's worse than Liam, because with Brandon, I might even be tempted to let him use me and throw me away. He'd be so hard to say no to if he tried what Liam did.

All of a sudden, I want him to know, I'm adamant that he knows what did happen. Maybe it'll shock him enough that he'll walk right out of here, and leave me to throw all three thousand calories of what he's just ordered into the dumpster across the street. Or leave me to eat it all.

"I was fourteen. I was raped by Liam, my foster brother. I thought he cared about me. It was the best foster home Jude and I had ever been in, and I wasn't going to risk leaving that. He came into my bed at least once a week, for nearly two years. Then we were caught and I was branded the slut, although they never knew how far he went, and we were sent to a home where I was beaten everyday for little things you get lectures for at worst. That man never tried to rape me, because to him, I wasn't even human enough to bang. I dropped a china plate his mom gave him once, and he made my lie down and all night long, he would smoke a cigarette, and put that out on me. He went through a whole pack back the time the sun came up. I still get letters from the families of the people my father killed that one night, drunk driving, and some of those family members think I should 'go kill myself'. I'm not every going to live down what has happened, what my father did, what Liam did, what that man did. That's the whole story Brandon, or at least most of it. Are you done?"

To his credit, he's only speechless for about fifteen seconds before he manages to spit out, "I'm sorry."

I laugh in his face. It's not the right thing to do, because I can see he's sincere, and truly sorry, as far as I can tell. But really?_ Sorry?_

"It's not your fault." Something's compelling me to say that. I'm not even sarcastic. It _isn't _his fault. He's just guilty of fucking with my emotions and making me think things I shouldn't.

"It doesn't have to be my fault for me to feel sorry." He's whispering now, and he's leaning in, and he looks like he's aged ten years. His eyes are swimming with some emotion I can't name. I'm holding my breath and he's reaching one slender hand out to cup my face. There's something flowing between us; an understanding that I'm screwed up, and there's nothing he can do to change that, but he won't stop trying.

His hand falls away, and it takes me a second to realize our waitress is holding a tray of fragrant food above us, and she's tapping her foot impatiently.

I forget he's there when I glimpse the burgers and golden fries and thick milkshakes. My stomach is churning again and I think I'm going to shit myself with longing.

_Fuck._


	17. Chapter 17

**_I love my reviewers SO much. I literally check my email every 15 minutes to see if I have any new notifications. Pretty intense chapter coming up, but I'm going to try and throw in some light-hearted Foster family fluff, so it's not all angst. _**

_Brandon_

I feel like I'm in a bad sitcom. The kind that's only on at 3 in the morning. And on some obscure channel; like Bravo.

Callie's face when the food comes out makes me want to scream with laughter and go off into the bathroom and sob. She's so frightened by the sight of the food I've ordered, it shouldn't be real life. Right now, she's easy to read, apparently exhausted from the effort it took to keep a straight face while telling her story. I thought she was bull-shitting me at first, but there was an acceptance underneath the flat, uncaring tone of her voice. She was telling the truth. She's come to terms with what happened to her, blaming fate.

Not me. I'm seething, and there's this murderous rage I feel forcing it's way into all parts of my brain. She's so calm, but she's so broken, and I want to find the men who hurt her and hurt them worse.

But I'm a coward. I wouldn't be able to hurt them, even in this state. I'm not capable of that. I can smoke and I can drink and I can party and I can hook up with random girls, but violence is too far beyond that line I've begun to cross these past few months. The idea of sinking my fist in _Liam's _flesh is incredibly tempting at the moment, but I know I'd never go through with it. I've grown up with two cops for parents, and they deal with violence in their day-to-day life. When I was five, Mom came home with a bloody nose and black eye from some run-in with a gang or something. I don't remember the details. I just know, I won't ever be able to do to someone what those men did to her. They pummeled her into the ground and left her there in the dirt before back-up came to get her. And even if the person in question was Hitler, I don't think I could swing my fist or leg and aim to inflict bodily harm.

Well, maybe Hitler.

So I'm left again with the dilemma of being useless, completely useless, in comforting Callie. The amusement in her eyes when I apologized was preceded by a deep, unnerving sorrow, like she felt bad for _me_, and the fact that I understand nothing about what truly happened to her in those two foster homes.

I know she suffered, and I know she's suffering now, as the waitress deposits our food on the table, and leaves. Callie is eyeing the burger with something close to lust. But there's an internal struggle going on, and I catch the dip of her chin, as she glances down at her waist and lap. She comes back up with a hardened gaze, and the desire is gone, replaced by a glimmer of resistance, as she fights what every organelle in her body is telling her to do.

I'm not sure what is required of me at this moment. "Callie? Please eat. I'll eat with you. Bite for bite. And I'll run with you tomorrow, as long as you take a break this afternoon."

I can see that she won't agree to either request before she starts to shake her head. I can just tell. She's an open book and an absolute mystery at the same time.

I lift my chair and move clockwise around the table, so that I'm right beside her, instead of facing her. I move my food along as well. I can't see her that well now, without craning my neck, but I know she's looking at me and there's resentment in her eyes. If we weren't ten miles away from the house and she weren't wearing the wrong clothes for running, I'm sure she'd be out the door by now.

"Brandon, I don't know what you're trying to do. I don't have an eating disorder, or whatever. It's complicated. And... I'm not hungry." Callie's voice is gentle, without that usual edge, and I almost fall for it. I'm ready to apologize and blame my overly active imagination.

But my eyes aren't lying. Just judging by her leg next to mine looks like she's got to be five years younger. Her face is still round, and her hair is still that one distinct shade of brown, but there is a difference. And the fact that she's denying it brings the anger back, and I'm twisting my body so that I'm face to face with her. Her breath still smells faintly of toothpaste, as she hasn't had anything to eat since she first got up this morning.

"Callie. One bite. Do it with me." I'm taking her hands out off her lap, and they're cold, like a corpse's would be, I imagine. I'm helping her pick up the burger, and together we lift it towards her mouth. She balks, and tries to pull away. "Look, Callie, I'll go first. Stay with me." It's like speaking to a small child who refuses to consume his or her broccoli. Her eyes aren't as clear as they should be. All the emotion from earlier is gone, and she's drifting away from me.

We place the burger back on her plate, and I take mine. I'm full from the subs Aiden got during lunch, but I'm not going to screw this up. "Watch." I bite into the burger, and her eyes are clear now. She's come back from whatever memory she's been visiting in the past few minutes. I can only hope it was a good memory. She analyzing my lips as they meet the bun, and contemplating me as I bite into the moist meat in the middle.

I swallow, my throat tight, and without my prompting, Callie picks up her burger and inhales the whole thing in under thirty seconds. There's american cheese on her chin, and ketchup on her nose when she's done.

I get a challenging look from her, and it's that girl that I met the first day again, defiant and not at all flustered. I can see the person she's become fighting back for control, but Callie's looking at me and she's just Callie in that moment.

She wipes her chin roughly with her sleeve and she's turning to me and there's something passing between us, and I think if I lit a match, the air would go up in flames. "I did it for you."

And then we're racing to see who can chug down the milkshakes fastest, and after she wins, the contest moves to who can get down their fries first. She's victor again. She's eating like a starved animal, eyes only on the food, and using two hands to get it down faster. I'm nauseous halfway through, but if I stop, she'll stop, and so I push through. The fries taste like rubber by the time my food is all gone; only five minutes after I first took a bite of the long-gone burger.

We sit there for a while, and her stomach is rumbling, as is mine. More people are coming into the diner now, and they ignore us. School is out by now, so they're not going to assume we are skipping.

The waitress seems mildly disgusted by how we totally demolished our orders in under ten minutes. It's probably a first for her. I don't care about her scathing opinion of us, but I want to shield Callie from her sneer. Anything could trigger the unhealthy version of herself she's morphed out of for the moment.

It sounds ridiculous. She's not shape-shifting, or switching personalities. There's just a part of her, created by the absolute chaos and tragedies of her life, that wants control over her body. And in this moment, she's normal, and she doesn't care about her caloric intake and BMI. I think those things are what she chooses to focus on, so she doesn't have to focus on the real issues at hand.

"We'll take the check."

* * *

_Callie_

I start to really hate myself on the car ride home. The food is churning around inside my stomach, and I think I'm going to throw-up. The brief moment of insanity is gone with Brandon no longer millimeters away from me, and I'm starting to grasp what I just did. I'm having a hard time regretting it though. I could taste the carbs and fats and sodium, but that wasn't enough to stop me. I don't think a masked man with a gun could have held me back from licking up each last crumb.

Brandon has the radio on. I think Lady Gaga is playing but I can't be sure, because neither of us are paying attention. He's on the phone, talking to Stef and assuring her we picked up some medicine and I'm fine now. He's gotten pretty good at lying, but I wouldn't be fooled, even if I couldn't see his right eye twitching, and his left hand drumming nervously on the steering wheel.

I'm scrolling through Liam's Facebook profile page on my iPhone, searching for a clue, a reason, as to why he'd be here, how he knows where I am. There are dozens of pictures of him holding red cups, surrounded by college-age kids who look so fucked up they've got to be on some heavy-duty shit. All of his profile pictures, and there are dozens, are him in the same pose, image after image. He's got his fingers up in a sideways peace sign, and his lips are pursed in the male version of the duck face. The tilt of his head and angle of his arm is all too familiar. The day Jude and I were sent away, he stood by the front window, and flashed me that very same peace sign as the police car we were in pulled out of his driveway. His expression was different that day, however. His face was relaxed, serene, and he really did look at peace. But in a sinister way, if that makes any sense. He was happy with the knowledge that he'd had a greater impact on my life than anyone else before him, and probably anyone else after him.

"Callie?" Brandon must be done talking to his mom, because he's reaching over with one hand and snatching my phone out of my grip. He stares at the image on the screen, Liam's second most recent profile picture, and I'm starting to worry for our safety. Brandon's hand is tightening on the wheel, and there's a look on his face of fury, intense and unsettling. "Did he...? Is this Liam?"

Brandon finally drops my phone on the center console and switches back to staring at the road ahead of us. He's still tense and tightly drawn, but at least we're not in imminent danger of colliding with the line of cars in the next lane.

"Don't worry about it." My stomach complains again and I'm unnecessarily sharp with him. There's a big part of me wishing I hadn't told him what I did. But there's a tiny weight missing from my shoulders, and it's an odd relief to see him stressing over Liam. No one has ever done that for me. I've been the sole provider of the anxiety surrounding him for the longest time. Since I first 'became a woman', in fact.

He pulls over to the shoulder of the road with a sharp twist of the wheel. I can feel the milkshake sloshing around along the lining of my stomach. The feeling that I'll surely lose my lunch returns, and I really want to just throw up and get rid of the crap filling my torso and weighing me down. I'll never purposely induce vomiting though. I've tossed my cookies enough times because of my foster father's vicious beatings that there's nothing positive or fulfilling associated with the taste of bile. In this situation, I wouldn't necessarily mind it though.

He's shifting the gears into park, and spins around to face me. It seems like this has been happening a lot lately.

"Callie." It's like he thinks that if he says my name enough times, I'll listen to him. He doesn't have to worry. I listen. His voice is so addictive; I don't really have a choice. "I do worry about it. All the goddamn time. Someone, someone who's hurt you, is back and I'm really worried. Not about what he can physically do to you. He can't get to you physically." He doesn't seem to fully believe it, but I don't call his bluff. "I'm worried about how he's screwing with your head." He pauses, contemplating the next train of thought, and soldiers on. I'm captivated by the movement of his lips, and his half-lidded eyes, weary from all the food he's consumed in the last twelve hours. "You were gorgeous when you came here, Callie. You still are, but it has nothing to do with the fact that I can see your bones. It's you. And I get you're fucked up," The words seem to cause him physical pain, but we both know they're true. "But you've got to trust. Trust me."

The last boy I trusted and cared for screwed me up for life. I want to trust Brandon so badly, and I already care for him ten times more than the other foster brother. He'll screw me up much worse, because I feel for him so much more.

"I can't." The tension is gone from his shoulders and he pivots to face the wheel again, silent. A wall is up now. I feel like we're going in the same circle, over and over again. He gives me another reason to care for him, and I realize too late the repercussions, and have to pull back. Self protection wins out. Over and over. It's annoying and exhausting and I want to fall out of the car and race for home and collapse in the shower and let the hot water take my breath away instead of him. The pattern has to end some time, because I don't think either of us can stand this much longer. I can sense it will end soon, but how that'll happen, I don't know. I do know that if he hurts me, if he turns out not to be the person I think, it'll kill me, as melodramatic as it sounds. I have my breaking point, and it's an invisible point that shimmers in the air before me, darting in and out of view. "Please take me home."


	18. Chapter 18

**_I'm in a lot of pain from last night's episode. It's serious and I need some Prozac stat. I really can't wait five more months. I can't. It's too much. I don't even want to write this. But I have to. I'm sorry guys if it's bad, but I'm so emotional right now, and I've been reading past chapters of this and my writing isn't as good as I thought, and ... Yeah. SO I'm dying. I really want to have Brandon and Callie's relationship develop in this story, but after that episode... I just don't know. I'm going to lighten it up, and bring in some Jesus and Mariana and Stef and Lena action in the next few chapters. Bear with me. _**

_Callie_

That feeling that you need to cry, but the tears just won't come and you're begging your tear ducts to just go and they won't, and you're stuck, full of too many emotions that are bouncing around inside of you, jarring your sternum and making it hard to focus on anything other than the overwhelming despair just controlling your body and making your chin tremble, and still no tears come. That feeling is with me at all times now.

I can't explain it to anyone. I'm fifty pounds heavier with those tears trapped inside of me, each little drop bloated with what I need to let myself feel, and I can't.

The memories, the bad ones, they're crippling and constant. There's also just this knowledge inside of me, somewhere in my gut, that tells me, no matter what I do, I'm going to fuck up. And I turn the lights out in the bathroom, close the door so it's pitch black, and I lie against the cold tile and sob silently, letting my body jerk with the movement, but no tears ever come out. I just let the darkness swallow me, and imagine that I don't really exist. _  
_

* * *

I'm lying on the floor right now. School was exhausting. Smiling at Wyatt, joking, laughing. Projects, homework, classwork. I'm dying inside, but my face stays blank.

It's the worst I've ever been before. Even after those nights with Liam, I could cry and I could go on with life, and I could look at Jude and know I'm doing it all for him. Even when the skin was being torn off of my back with the belt buckle of my foster father, I had hope. He wasn't hurting Jude. I was strong enough. There'd be a better foster family later on. I just had to work through it. I had to endure.

I can't endure anymore. We're with the best family we've ever had, and Jude's happy, and I have a boyfriend and some girls are friendly to me in school, and I've heard Lena and Stef talking about adopting me and Jude. My life is better than it's ever been since the car crash.

But I think all of the horrible things in the past are starting to catch up to me. It's because in a few moments of idiotic stupidity and complete selfishness, I let those walls down that'd been protecting me for so long.

It was Brandon. It was always Brandon. Before him I could cope. I could manage. I could look forward at least to going to a community college and finding a minimum wage job, and supporting myself and Jude, and eventually letting him go his own way and finding a man who wouldn't beat me at least and bring in enough bills to pay the rent. I had a future, and the memories were distant echos.

Brandon set something off in me. I don't know how or what. I just know he's killing me, but he's the only thing keeping me alive as well. It was a subtle shift, but my life no longer orbits around Jude and that future I have and know. My gravity has changed and I'm attracted to his being. He walks into the house, and I can feel my body being tugged towards him. There's a drunken happiness that comes with his presence, and a different hope seizes my insides, and the clashing of different emotions hurts. And I fight that feeling, and while I'm fighting my own personal gravity, Liam and the man and my father come flooding in.

_There's a family, two little boys, one teenage girl, and two elderly parents, headed home from dinner. The boys had ordered chicken fingers, and they were still greasy. The girl texted a friend on her phone, ignoring their squeals as they argue over a batman figurine. The mother fiddles with the radio, searching for some nice soothing classical music. She has a headache. The boys are responsible. The father is annoyed at only getting to drink one glass of the ridiculously expensive bottle of wine they ordered. Being the designated driver was a pain. He's yawning, thinking of the sweet red wine on his tongue, and praying the traffic isn't heavy so they can get home soon. There's a squealing noise that doesn't come from one of the boys, and suddenly bright headlights are blinding him. The rest happens in slow motion. The kids are screaming, and the girl's phone crashes to the floor. The wife is jolted forward violently against her seatbelt as he hits the breaks, and there's a shattering noise as the glass window break, showering the children with sharp fragments. My dad is crashing into them, and he's killing that entire family, except for the teenage girl. My mother dies mid-scream, as her body is thrown out of the windshield with tremendous force. At home, Jude and I are sitting, watching Full House. Until we hear the sirens._

* * *

_Brandon_

Usually when the light is out in the bathroom, even if the door is closed, it means no one is in there. Not today.

I walk in on Callie, balled up on the floor, her hair touching the base of the toilet. I can't see her face. She's only got on shorts and a small shirt, and she looks chilled to the bone. The tile is cold against my bare soles.

Suddenly, irrationally, I'm blushing. I can't say why, only that the sight of her lying there makes me very uncomfortable. I've seen her cry before. This is different.

It doesn't help that her exposed skin is pale, and I want to rub some warmth into her.

It takes her longer than it should to turn around and focus on me, but when she does she's off of the floor in a second, and brushing by me to get to her room, muttering something about a run. It's like yesterday didn't happen.

I realize that now is my moment to make a graceful exit, and go back to SAT prep, and nursing the beer Aiden traded me for the math homework. But I'm also pretty sure helping out someone in distress is ranked higher in importance than reverting back to the alcoholic tendencies I've been trying to get rid of. Mariana and Jesus are both at Lexi's, although I'm pretty sure I heard Mariana talking with someone else on the phone about meeting up once they got dropped at Lexi's. Jude's focused on some math homework in his room. Mom's at work and Lena's grocery shopping. There's no way Callie would go to Jude with whatever she's dealing with, as it mostly has to do with Liam, which leaves me the only person with a chance at soothing her.

I'm not sure if I'm the only one who knows about her rape - God, I can't stand that word - but it seems like I'm the only one doing something. Wyatt can go to hell for all I care. If I was her boyfriend, I'd care that she was losing weight rapidly and was obviously damaged and scarred.

That's kind of funny, though. _If I was her boyfriend. _

I can hear Callie getting ready for her run. There's the sound of shoes being thrown around, and rustling as she changes. I know what I need to do, but it's not at all tempting in this moment.

Neither of us speaks as I follow her down the stairs. She's wearing short grey running leggings, and she's got a sleeveless pink shirt. Her hair is pulled back high up on her head, although she's missed a few strands that float around her slender neck as she descends.

"What are you doing?" She only speaks to me when I continue to move with her out of the house. She sounds tired and annoyed.

"I'm running with you. I told you so yesterday."

I expect some sort of reply along the lines of: "I don't need your help", but she just gazes at me for close to a minute. I meet her eyes, and something passes between us.

She starts stretching. "Hope you can keep up."

Hadn't really thought of that. I'm barefoot, and I've got on baggy sweatpants and the school t-shirt. I'm going to look ridiculous running.

I want to keep her company, even if she doesn't want it. She needs someone to be there for her, and it doesn't really seem like there's even a question as to whether I'll go wherever she does. I don't think I could turn back and head inside if I wanted to.

* * *

_Callie_

Brandon is destroying the little self-esteem that I have left. He starts out slow, having to run on the grass along the shoulder of the road. He's clearly not in shape and falls back a few paces behind me. I'm not running my fastest either. I'm still dizzy from lying horizontally for so long. _  
_

The grass gives way to more pavement eventually, and he's forced to change course. It's not a hot day, but the sun must have soaked into it enough that he gasps when his feet first hit the ground. He continues to moan a little as he chugs onward, and those noises spark a memory. Not a bad one entirely - _his lips give under mine -_ but I'm thrown off my game - _the tendons are standing out on his neck as he strains to meet my - _and he starts to catch up - _he's so strong - _and the little gasps are gone now that he's adjusted. I pinch the skin between my thumb and pointer finger and keep going. _  
_

It doesn't make any sense. The only exercise he gets is in gym class. And he can keep pace with me. I can hear that it's not easy for him, through his labored breaths and occasional curses when we run up a hill, but he's right by my side, and stays there. His presence is throwing me off, as are the calories from yesterday, and after two miles I'm ready to give up and turn around.

It's a matter of pride now however, and I continue to pump my arms, and my elbow brushes his. I haven't looked in his direction once. I just let the sound of his breathing fuel me forward, and I try to imagine that if I keep going, I'll leave him behind entirely. Not just him, but every little emotion that comes with the sight of him.

We get to the road that leads onto the beach. I never run by the beach. I always turn before the sound of crashing waves can assault me.

Brandon is pulling ahead of me, and just now, I realize he's shed his shirt. He's just wearing sweatpants now, and I almost stumble over a branch in the road as my eyes scan his torso, and the faint sheen of sweat coating him, and the straining of his muscles, and his slender build that disguises the strength hidden somewhere beneath the clear, smooth skin on his curved back.

He's headed towards the beach, and I follow him. I don't really have a choice. His muscles might just give out any second now. The human body can't just go from months of inactivity to six mile runs under the blazing sun. A cloud has moved far up in the sky, and the temperature of the air has gone up infinitely. I can't leave him to hurt himself. Not because I care about his well-being, but because I'd probably get in trouble.

Brandon finally slows down when we reach the sand. He's gasping for breath, bent over and coughing, his back convulsing. I watch him as I recover, lifting my hand to my throat and feeling my jumping pulse. It's so amazing to have that throbbing under your fingertips and think your heart is pumping overtime to keep you conscious, and awake, and alive. My heart wants me to live.

I think I stumble a little, my feet dragging in the sand, because he straightens up and his hands are on me, easing me to the ground gently. I can't see his face, but I know he wants me to live. Him and my heart.

He tells me to wait, and he steps back and looks at me with an eyebrow raised. He's doubtful that I'll actually stay put. His chest is heaving. His ribs are visible when he inhales, and the veins in his neck are moving up and down to the point where I can see it. He tells me to stay and I know I will.

I can't tear my gaze off of him as he walks away. The sight of his body moving fluidly as he advances towards the waves and little snack shack down there wakens something in me, and I'm normal in that moment. I'm a normal, lusty teenage girl. It feels insanely good. I think I could be this girl if I wanted to. I think, as long as Brandon is around, I could worry about my appearance and my romantic prospects all the time. I'm not so screwed up I can't change.

* * *

_Brandon_

"Two medium vanilla ice creams in a cone. Chocolate sprinkles." I could probably go for an extra large ice cream right now, but it's probably best if I get the same thing as Callie. There's a chance she might not eat it anyway, but I don't think I could consume the ice cream meant for her, meant to energize her. It seems kind of cruel. The thought has also crossed my mind that we might not be able to get home. I won't be able to run after this.

The girl taking my order goes to our school. I recognize her as the pretty freshman Daryl dated for a few months. He dumped her when she wouldn't sleep with him. I immediately respect her for that. "Is that all?"

"Yes, thank you." I dig out the crumpled ten dollar bill in my pocket. It's been there for ages, gone through the wash at least three times. "Sorry about the money..."

She smiles back at me and turns away to fix our orders. I'm cramping up, and my stomach is grumbling. _Hurry up._ I can't see Callie from here. She should be behind the dune to my left a couple hundred feet away, but there's a sinking feeling in my gut telling me she's gone already. She's left without me. She's running again, and she'll take a longer route back.

I get my change and the ice cream. I almost offer the second cone to the freshman, but there's still a hope that Callie's crouched there, in the spot where I left her, willing to talk and just sit with me. I shouldn't be making this about me; I know that, but I really want her to still be there, if only so that I can offer her the ice cream and she can look up at me with her round brown eyes and I'll get a glimpse of peace that I've only seen from her once or twice before.

She's not where I left her. She's by the water, sitting in the damp sand, and the ocean is surging up around her and soaking her pants and the bottom of her shirt in salt water.

"Took you long enough." She's got a wry smile twisting her lips. I sit down beside her, feeling my sweats fill with moisture and I feel like I've just peed myself.

"You moved." I'm offering her the ice cream and she lifts a wet hand to it, and squeezes the cone so that it turns mushy and soggy. But I lift mine to my mouth and she shadows me, and we sit in the ice-cold water, eating the ice cream.

When she turns to me, she's got got sprinkles in her hair. "You're a pretty good runner for a slouch."

"I'm just a natural, I guess. I get pretty toned from the guitar playing. Maybe I wouldn't have been able to keep up if you'd never given it back." It's nice to tease each other. For so long, it's just been awkwardness and resentment (on her part) and silence between us.

The walls are coming down again, but I know better than anyone how fast they can go up. "Or trying to play the hero these past few weeks has gotten you in shape." She's joking, but not really.

"Every guy wants to be the knight in shining armor at some point in his life. You should know that by now." I'm cold now, and I don't really want to finish my ice cream cone, but she's been taking a lick for every lick I've taken, and I can't stop now.

"Not every guy." The walls are still down, but she's not just letting me in. There's darkness in her eyes. I can't even focus on how beautiful she looks right now, the sun wavering on the horizon, her hair glowing red in some strands.

There's a pause as I consider what I can say that will lighten the mood and cheer her up. It all sounds cheesy and naive to me, so I can't imagine what her reaction would be.

My mind goes an entirely different route, and all I can think about is getting her to smile again, even if it's sarcastic and demeaning. The hollowness that's starting to take over her is frightening, and I have to speak. "Can I ask you a question?"

A particularly strong wave comes and splatters both of our faces with water droplets. I think I'm shivering, but oddly enough, she looks comfortable right now, covered in sea water with her cloths stuck tight against her body. _Don't look there. _

"Yes?" Eye contact. She's curious.

Too late now to stop myself. "How'd you get that scar on your forehead?"

Now she's surprised, and her lips are pink and wet and open slightly, and I pick up a little fear flitting across her distinctive features, and I don't know how to backtrack.

The sand underneath me shifts and I think she's getting up, but she's really just pivoting so that her back's to the incoming waves, and we're both cross-legged, with the soggy remains of our ice cream cones in our hands. She finishes hers with one big bite, and slips mine out of my fingers and finishes mine too. Neither of us comments on it. The water is coming in stronger now, and I'm slightly scared it's just going to envelope her wispy frame and suck her away to the depths of the ocean. I don't see how she's not wracked with shivers now.

I want so badly to scoop her up, and carry her back to the dry sand, and take off those damp, chilling clothes, and cover her in a wool blanket and let her sleep. And I want to stay by her side and hold her if she starts to shake and whisper and moan with nightmares.

She's opening her mouth to speak, and I turn off the train of thoughts as best I can, the shame rushing in faster than the water around our waists.

"I don't think you really want to know, but I'm going to tell you anyway. Jude did this to me."

I can't process her words. I'm so confused and befuddled, and I want to get up and run away. It makes no sense at all. None. She's watching me react, and I try to control myself for her sake. It just doesn't fit. There's a sadness in her eyes, worse than when she told me about Liam, or her foster father, or mentioned her real father's car accident. This is something she can't accept and I'm so torn as to why she's telling me this.

"It was after Liam's parents found out about our 'relationship'. They didn't know about the sex, or rather the rapes, but they listened to Liam when he told them I'd come on to him. Jude and I overheard it all. He was so young, and so angry and I couldn't tell him what really happened, and he blamed me for making us leave the best foster home we'd ever had. I was angry too and we fought and I was so out of my mind, I told him I wished they'd separate us and I started to walk away. He pushed me... he pushed me and I fell into the the glass table in the living room, and it hurt and he was begging for my forgiveness and I was taken to the ER and we never saw Liam or his family again. I told them it was an accident. That I tripped. And it was an accident. And he's never forgiven himself for it, but he still hates what I did, and we were both abused by the foster father that came next, and it was my fault. If I'd just went along with Liam, helped him not get caught with me... I don't know. And it's going to be on me if we get kicked out of your family, and if I do something that does make us get kicked out, he'll never forgive me. Or himself. He looks at my scar and he knows he did it. And he hates me for letting it get to that. I love him so much. But I don't think either of us will ever forget."

She's not crying, but the agony in her is so clear, I'm blown away. In her story, there was a warning. A warning that if something were to happen with us, not that it ever would, it would screw up her relationship with her little brother for good.

It's painful. I know she doesn't really feel anything for me, and I know she's the single most important thing in my life right now, romantically speaking or not. I'd always figured that it wasn't that big of a deal; foster siblings having a relationship. We're not related. We haven't known each other for years. We don't share a room. I'd always been optimistic deep down, that there was a chance.

But her only long-term relationship, her only living family member that isn't in jail; that's at stake here. And she's hurting. The rape, and the abuse, and the guilt associated with her father's crash, are nothing compared to the crushing knowledge that she'll never have a perfect relationship with her brother. He's scarred her, and she's let him down, and they're both so broken.

I wrap my arms around her and she relaxes in my embrace. I hold her until the water is so high, we're both in danger of being taken away. It doesn't seem like too bad of an ending, as long as she stays in my arms the whole time.


	19. Chapter 19

**_Hey you just read this, and this is crazy, but here's a little box, Review me maybe? (like it Sam?)_**

Callie

_It's dark out and all I can hear is his heavy breathing, right by my ear. With each thrust he puts his weight further onto me, and I'm having trouble seeing him at all. Liam's gotten good at this by now. He's been coming into my room for nearly three weeks now, almost every night. Jude never wakes up. Once, actually, he did, and Liam rolled under my bed before he was fully conscious. My little brother looked at me across the room, hair ruffled and eyes drooping, and went back to sleep. And Liam started right up again._

_It's a bad night. He's drunk, and he's more violent than before. I think the sick, twisted part of his brain has always somehow imagined that I am silently consenting, that I want it. With the liquor on his breath and saturating his brain tissue, I think the human being inside of him realizes I don't want him in me. I think somewhere inside that thick skull, he's drunk enough to minimally grasp what he's doing to me. But the voice in the back of his mind just makes him angrier, and he pins me to the mattress with unnecessary force. He knows I won't scream. He knows there's nothing I can do but shut my eyelids and bite my tongue and pray to my mother up in heaven that it ends soon. If there is a heaven._

_But my eyes won't close, and I can't make them. And before I lose it completely, something in the universe shifts, and Liam's face is morphing. His hair is darkening, becoming thicker and soft. His eyes are changing, melting into a light blue green with specks of gold. There's a depth in them now. His cheekbones are more distinct, and his jaw narrows and sculpts itself into an angular figure that flexes as he clenches his newly pink, sweet lips together. There's a freckle emerging next to the thinner nose, and there's the faintest five o'clock shadow darkening the lower half of his face. He's gorgeous._

_It's Brandon. He smiles down at me, and the body on top of me is different as well. He's slim and muscular, and his stomach is like rock against my thin tank top. He's flawed in his beauty; there are scars and freckles sprinkled over his light skin. The terror is vanishing, and I'm coming alive again. I'm not in that numb, uncaring state anymore. I'm glowing as he fixes that intense stare on me, his eyes sucking me in so deep, I don't know where I am anymore._

_Then he's pushing into me again, and there's a brief second of pleasure, uncontrollable pleasure. But I'm blinking and it's Liam again. He smiles, those straight white teeth flashing, no sign of Brandon's sharp canines now, and I scream with every ounce of strength left in me._

* * *

Lexi's in the hospital. They're saying she's got maybe a month left. She can't eat or drink. Something to do with the medication she's on or the machines she's hooked up to.

It's ironic in a completely morbid way. Jesus lives at the hospital now, almost. He only leaves when the nurses have to physically push him out the door. Brandon drops him off there and picks him up too. Every day without question. The school's gotten fed up pretty quickly with Jesus's absences. 'He's not a relative; he's only been her significant other for a few months. He's fifteen, for Christ's sake.' I overheard that the other day. Lena pulled some strings, and now he's being homeschooled by her and Stef for however long she's in the hospital.

It won't be long.

Mariana seems to be coping with it rather well. When I asked her, she said that we all knew it was coming eventually. Better now than later, when Lexi will just have to live with her imminent death longer. It makes sense, I guess. But sometimes when she thinks I'm asleep, I hear her crying. She prays a lot these days; to God, to Mary, to the angel who led her and Jesus to be adopted by the Fosters. I don't think that angel has a name. She calls her angel Mother.

I've learned a lot from those nights when I can't drift off, and she whispers to whoever is listening to her up there. I want to give her privacy. However, I think she knows I can hear some of the time, and she doesn't care. She wants me to hear. And I don't want to interrupt. I don't want her to feel like she has to stop. I listen as she describes the crowd of kids she's begun hanging around with, and how she just tried marijuana for the first time with them recently, and how Kelsey and all her old friends are distant. She talks about how she doesn't know what to say when she sees Lexi anymore. She feels awkward, and frightened of the smell of chemicals her friend gives off now, and she doesn't even really like her new friends but who else does she have. The one girl who didn't make fun of her when she ripped her princess dress back in elementary school is dying, and that girl wants Mariana's brother around more than she wants Mariana.

Jude's just being Jude. He makes Jesus's bed for him when Jesus is too busy with school and Lexi. He helps out with dinner a lot. He keeps Mariana company in the living room when she watches TV there alone. He steers clear of me and Brandon for the most part.

He steers clear of us because we're together most of the time. The ironic thing about Lexi not being able to eat or drink now is that I finally am able to eat and drink. In between ferrying Jesus to the hospital and back, school, and piano lessons, Brandon's found the time to badger me constantly about breakfast, lunch and dinner. He'll show up randomly at the little nook in the A wing hallway where Wyatt and I always eat. He never stays to talk, just scans my lap for food, and my hands and mouth for a sign that I am actually consuming said food. If I don't have anything with me, he buys me lunch. Always a peanut butter sandwich with chocolate milk and apple slices. He knows I don't like jelly on my sandwiches.

If Wyatt notices anything off, he doesn't say, other than the occasional, "Dude's got to be on crack." There are rumors going around school that Brandon's turned into this total drunk stoner, but I'm pretty sure every reasonable kid knows it's not true. He's been acting different, he looks different, more brooding somehow, but he's not on crack. Wyatt knows it too. I think he knows what Brandon's trying to help me with. Wyatt is smarter than I give him credit for half the time. He's not a bad guy either. He's got an inkling of the situation, and he keeps his distance for my sake, I think. We've both got secrets. Wyatt's trying, to the best of my knowledge, to make this work.

I have more energy to laugh at his jokes and I accept his plans for school-night dates now. Every morning, Brandon is at the kitchen table when I come down. He fixes me with his clouded blue eyes, staring from under his lashes, and he watches as I reach for a granola bar. I'm not diving right back in to bagels with full-fat cream cheese, and I get an eye roll when I reach for the skim milk, but he leaves me alone generally.

It's dinner time that's the worst. Brandon sits next to me every meal. Sometimes I can smell alcohol on his breath. He's joining us now for dinner though, which makes Lena really happy, as it tends to just be me, Jude, Brandon, her and Stef. Whatever the meal we're being served is, he takes the exact same portion as me. If I'm in a bad mood, or don't want to eat, or the food is especially calorie-loaded, he won't eat until I do. I'm stuck at a cross-road, wanting to restrict, but knowing that if I do, he will as well. And he's clearly got a really high metabolism. He needs to eat.

It's annoying and exhausting, and we haven't even exchanged over a dozen words since last week. In class I know his eyes are on me, and it wounds my pride just the slightest bit that he thinks he has to watch over me. Protect me even.

He even goes on runs with me, the few times I do go. I'm usually too full to even consider getting up from my bed. When I do go, I try to sneak out past him, so I'll be able to run further and faster than he'd allow. But he'll hear me going down the stairs, and the melody of notes from his keyboard will break off, and he'll trample down the stairs after me, no matter what he's got on.

I like the sound of our breathing mixed together as we both push to best the other. I've got practice and pride on my side; he's got his uncanny strength and quiet determination. We end up at the beach sometimes, and he always manages to scrounge up enough money to purchase two ice cream cones. He doesn't speak and I don't try to deny him. My brain screams at me to throw the melting, fattening substance into the ocean and run home. My stomach screams for more nourishment. Since that first lunch at the diner over a week ago, my body is waking up, and the hunger can't be silenced now. Sometimes my brain wins over, and I'll draw my arm back to throw away the 500 calories clutched in my sticky palms, but I always end up frozen in that position, and before I can go through with it, his hand is on my wrist, his fingers sticky with the ice cream he won't let himself lick until I do, and I don't meet his eyes, but my arm shifts so the cone is at my lips, and he mimics me, and we eat.

* * *

Brandon

"Will you come up with me?" Jesus is halfway out of my car, but with those words he falls back into the seat. "Mrs. Rivera said Lexi's not doing well today, and she's on meds that put her to sleep, and I need someone to talk to."

"Of course." _I'm going to miss dinner. _"Lead the way."

He flashes me a relieved smile, and I know I'm doing the right thing. My brother needs me right now. Even with the foster homes when he was younger, I'm fairly positive this experience is the hardest thing he's ever been through. It's difficult to believe, looking at him, that he's gone through what he has. He's a handsome guy, and there's always a light shining in his eyes, and he tends to have one side of his mouth cocked at all times, prepared to laugh at a moment's notice. He seems more mature now then a few months ago, but he's the same kid I remember walking into my house over eight years ago. He's got that boldness and fearlessness I don't think I'll ever possess.

The hospital is actually really nice. It's six stories high, and one side is completely glass. It curves in a crescent shape around a well-tended garden and the inside is bright and new. It smells clean and fresh, like our bathroom at home right after Mom's washed it. The cafeteria is really nice too, better than the one at our school. According to Jesus, the food is nicer as well.

We get up to the fifth floor, check in at the nurse's station, and make our way down the hallway to Lexi's room. The rooms on this floor could be in a hotel, if it was an extremely sterile hotel with hospital beds and heavy machines. The ceiling is really high, and Lexi's room has a view of the pond across the parking lot.

When we get there, Mrs. Rivera is standing at the foot of her daughter's bed. Lexi looks pale and malnourished, her fingers in little fists on the pink bedspread they'd brought from home. She looks like she's spouting wires and tubes from every hole in her body. "Hello, Jesus. Oh, and Brandon! Good to see you! How is school going?"

It hurts me to see how hard she's trying to be normal, to engage me in small talk. "It's going pretty good. SAT prep is the only problem I've got."

Her face falls just the tiniest bit. Lexi will never get to take the SATs. I should have stopped with 'pretty good'.

Jesus cuts into the silence. "We'll watch Lexi for a little bit if you want to go get some coffee and something to eat."

This has become a routine, it appears, and with a grateful glance at us, Mrs. Rivera pats the lump at the base of the bed that must be Lexi's feet and exits.

Jesus loses just a bit of his composure as the clicking of her heels against the polished floor fades away. He doesn't look away from Lexi as he moves to take the chair right by her bed and lifts one hand tenderly off of the comforter and holds it in both of his. I think I see a tear fall and I turn away. He'd want privacy.

I find a seat further away from the bed, in the corner of the room. I stare out the window at the darkening sky. Down in the parking lot, everyone looks so small. There's one group of people walking towards a red minivan. One of them is in a wheelchair. I think I see someone holding a bottle of champagne. They're celebrating. The guy in the wheelchair has been discharged.

The fact that the death of a girl I've known for the majority of my life is closing in on us suddenly dawns on me. We won't get to walk out of here with a bottle of liquor and triumphant smiles on our faces. Lexi isn't going to make it out of here. She's not going to be discharged. At least, not alive.

"I'm not stupid, Brandon." Jesus isn't crying anymore. He sounds almost angry, although you'd have to know him really well to pick up on it. He's got one of those voices that can't fully convey his negative emotions. He always sounds relaxed and calm.

I don't look back at him until the group has gotten into the red car and driven away, out of my line of sight. "What are you talking about?"

"Callie."

"What about her?"

He makes a pissed off noise in the back of his throat. "You love her."

"No." _Do I? I'm sixteen. How is that even possible?_

He lets it pass for the moment. "I love Lexi. I know what you think. It's just a teenage fling. She's hot, she's willing to have sex with me, and she's around our house a lot. You think we'd be over and broken up by now if she hadn't gotten sick."

I'm not sure what he wants me to say, so I keep my mouth shut.

"And you're probably right, Brandon. I can't pay attention to anything for that long, you know that. I'm on freaking meds for it. I might've lost interest in her by now." He's leaning towards me, elbows on his knees, and he's let go of her hand. "We wouldn't have lasted forever. And that thought is going to torment me. I'm going to always know that if I hadn't found out she had cancer, I'd have dumped her. I think she knows it too. Because, Brandon, when you date someone, there's only two outcomes: you marry her, or you two break up. Lexi and I would have broken up."

I don't know why he's telling me this. Half of my focus is on the family dinner that's going on right now. I can't imagine Callie will eat enough without me looking over her shoulder. The thought is frightening, and although Jesus's words do register, I'm not one hundred percent present.

His next words do catch my attention.

"I don't know the details. Callie doesn't open up to just anyone. I know something happened to her, and it fucked her up good. I know that you know. I don't want you to tell me. I want you to listen." I should give Jesus more credit. He's incredibly perceptive. He's always so laid-back, it's easy to forget he's been protecting his sister her whole life, and he knows, more than I do, what the real world is like. "Callie's been through enough. Unless you see something more than a high school romance in your future, don't do it. Don't break her heart. She might just as well break yours." I close my eyes because I can't deal with this sudden onslaught of information and emotion. "Think about it, bro."

The silence is heavy in the air now, but I have nothing to say that will fill the air between us with words. I need to do something, so I find the clock in the room. It's 7:30. We've been here forty-five minutes. I usually drop him off around six, the start of afternoon visiting hours, and pick him up around eight, the end. I was late getting home from piano lessons. Dad insisted on driving me there and back, and he made a thirty minute stop at the gas station to fix a windshield wiper. He didn't seem to hear when I told him I needed to get home. He was hitting on the lady inside the little shop there. I almost drove away without him.

The next thirty minutes, Jesus goes back to holding Lexi's hand and I play with the drawstring of my pants. I rarely wear jeans anymore, as I never know when Callie's going to decide to go for a run. I made the mistake of going with her on Monday in the new Levi's Lena got on sale for me. It wasn't fun.

My train of thoughts always comes back to her, Callie. Not always; when I'm playing the piano, or I'm hanging out with my dad, or I'm smoking a rare cigarette with Ariana behind the diner I forget. Until Ariana flips her hair behind her ear like Callie does, or my dad starts talking about a rape case or child abuse case at work, or my instructor tells me to tap into the emotion I've buried deep down. It all sounds ridiculous, like I'm a stalker. Like I'm Liam. It shouldn't be right, that I think about her so much.

The thought crosses my mind that Jesus is right, that I'm in love with her, but it's so far-fetched and obscure and _wrong_ that I have to leave the hospital room, and hurry to the elevator, and get out into the cool night air to clear my head.

_Foster sister. Foster sister. Foster sister. _I'm leaning against the glass structure and chanting those two words to myself. _Screw you, Jesus. I'm not a pervert._

* * *

When we get home, dinner has been put away in the fridge. Jesus makes do with some crackers and cheese. I set out two plates and pile on the leftover casserole and green beans. Jesus gives me a sideways glance but I ignore him.

Callie's in her room, bent over a textbook. Mariana's got to be in the bathroom. I can smell the lotion she always applies post-shower. Callie looks up when I knock on the door. Her hair is falling into her eyes and she looks tired, but lucid.

"Did you eat dinner?" I try to keep my voice low. She'll kill me if Jude or our moms get involved.

I can see the conflict that's waging behind the veil of her hair. She nods quickly, and it's a lie. I can tell.

"Come on." She knows I saw, and she knows I'm going to keep pushing. We both can read each other so well, it's become a game of wits to stay ahead of the other. I'm winning.

She follows me downstairs. She sits at the table across from me. We eat.

When her plate is empty, as is mine, she speaks. "How's Lexi?"

"Okay." I don't really feel like talking. I'm still reeling from Jesus's comments earlier.

"Brandon?"

"Mmm?"

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice is soft, questioning. The question isn't motivated by anger. It's pure curiosity.

Why _am_ I doing this? I could have just told Moms long ago. I could have pushed the problem on to one of the therapists Lena works with. I could have let it go, let her run all she wants, let her eat as little as she wanted. I could have dedicated the time I've devoted to her on studying and practicing, and kissing Ariana, and Emily, and every other willing girl I've come across. I could be in bed right now, head propped up on a pillow, and finishing the dreaded English paper. Instead, I'm sitting in the kitchen, practically holding a girl here against her will, and trying to fight back the taste of bile that comes with Mom's seafood casserole. Her calling in life is not to be a chef.

Callie wants an answer, and I owe her one. I owe her that at least.

"Because you're my sister."


	20. Chapter 20

**_Hey! So I'm getting like hundreds of views on each chapter and that's really amazing and I'm so grateful! I write for you guys. Please though, leave a review with your thoughts and opinions! You can rant, or share, or fangirl. The more reviews and favorites and follows, the more I am motivated to keep working to improve. If you dislike it, Tell me! Just take five minutes to leave your feedback. I won't judge (:_**

_Callie_

Wyatt intercepts me on my way to Brandon's car after last period. I never used to mind waiting for Lena to be ready to leave fifteen minutes after the bell, but these days I don't feel like waiting. The majority of tension between Brandon and me is gone now, I think, since he referred to me as his sister the other day. The line we'd begun to step over together is left alone now, and while he's kept up the routine of making sure I eat, the intensity in his gaze when he looks at me has lessened. I don't think he even sees me anymore.

"Are you headed home?" Wyatt slips his arms around my waist and kisses my neck as he comes up behind me. I know it's him and I don't panic as I have before. The mane of wild blond curls in unmistakable.

I think I catch a glimpse of Brandon by his car, facing me, but Wyatt spins me around before I can focus.

"Yeah, so far I've got no big plans for my Friday night." I feel my lips curve up into a smile, as they tend to do when I'm around him. "Unless…"

"Unless…" He continues, flashing his dazzling white teeth at me. "… You want to come to the beach bonfire with me?"

"Beach bonfire? Intriguing…" I keep the grin plastered on my face, but something is twitching in my chest, and I can feel the ache coming. "Is this something I should already know about?"

"Well, yeah. Everyone who's anyone knows the juniors and seniors and a few lucky underclassmen hang out there the first Friday of every month. I'm not the first person who's told you?" He trails off towards the end, the realization dawning in his eyes. "No one told you."

I tell myself it doesn't matter. I tell myself it's because I'm new. But I'm lying to myself. I've been at this school for months now. My face is no longer bruised and battered. The rumors have faded away. At Lena's urgings, I've been trying to reach out to the other girls in my classes, the ones I can tell aren't part of Talya's crew. I've made some progress. The eating thing has set me back a bit, since I don't eat with the girls who've been friendly to me at lunch. But I've even hung around town with a few of the girls in my journalism class, and they seemed to like me. I liked them. They asked me about juvy, but I didn't even mind that. They're just curious. Better that they hear the truth than whatever warped version involving drug lords and shoot-outs that's going around.

Standing there on the grass before the school, I'm struck with a different kind of pain then I've ever felt before. It's a shallow kind of hurt, a childish twist in my stomach. I'd have thought at least one of my 'friends' would tell me about it. I'm so insanely embarrassed that Wyatt has to see all this. He knows now what a complete and utter reject I am. The discomfort is minimal compared to past problems, but in the moment, I'm crippled with the knowledge that I'm not wanted by anyone other than Wyatt, at this event. It's more than just an invite to a bonfire. The situation right now just strengthens my certainty that I'll never really be important, or desired, or cared for. My classmates wouldn't notice if I didn't show. Only Wyatt would care.

There's a swell of affection in me for him at that moment. He cares. I try not to let on the jumble of feelings knotted in me as I look up and meet his eyes. "Well, you better take me home so I can change out of this." I'm wearing too-big jeans and a droopy white shirt. The outfit looked much better laid out on my bed this morning.

His smirk is on full wattage now. "After you, m'lady."

* * *

_Brandon_

All day, Aiden's been pestering me to go to the bonfire. "It'll be fun, man! Everyone is going. Plus, I need some backup. Emily's gonna be there. Ariana will be there too, and I heard she's got a serious thing for you. And, Scott's dealer came through with some heavy-load shit, and it's all gonna sell out if we don't go."

The drugs don't really interest me. The free beer is tempting, but I really only decided to go because of Lexi. Her doctors are letting her out this one last time for the bonfire. It's one of those wish programs kids with cancer get. Lexi didn't want to go to Disneyworld, or meet a celebrity, or travel to some exotic island. She begged to be allowed to come to this stupid little bonfire, as her last hurrah or something. She wants to say goodbye, I suppose. According to Mom, the hospital put up a fuss. Liability and all. I guess Lexi's argument was, she's going to die anyway, there's no question of that. Why not just let her speed it up and have one last good day to think about when the time does come. It's hard to argue with that reasoning.

Jesus is at the hospital now, helping get her situated in her fancy beach wheelchair, and the accompanying poles and IV's. I gave him a ride there when I got back from school. Mariana's going with her newer group of friends, a bunch of kids with dyed hair and black clothing. I'm not one to judge. These past few days, between antagonizing Callie, driving Jesus, and keeping up with the grim reaper and school, I barely have time to shower, let alone pick out a socially acceptable outfit or brush my hair. Ariana calls it a rumpled, bad-boy look. Lena calls it disgusting, in a loving tone, of course.

Ariana's my date for the bonfire, according to Aiden. We're going with him and Emily. And there's no point in arguing. She's supermodel material and according to Mariana, the hottest thing our school has to offer. I don't necessarily agree with that. She's beautiful, no doubt about it, but identical to the image that comes to mind when someone says 'All-American girl'. She's got the big blue eyes, delicate features, and long blond hair of a Barbie doll. Including the body dimensions. She's prettier than Talya, but I can't compare her to someone like Callie. It's like an apple and an orange, as annoying as that metaphor is. The apple, Ariana, is more commonly preferred, sweeter, easier to eat. It's got a completely different texture and growth process as the orange, Callie, which has got a tough outside layer, but the insides are layered and further encased. It takes time to eat an orange. Time and effort.

I'm high. My train of thoughts is hard to follow, but I know I'm getting ridiculous.

Aiden passes me the joint again, but I wave it away. We're sitting in the sand a little away from the party. I threw on some cargos and a black t-shirt before I had to leave the house to get the others. Aiden lost car privilege for some reason or another.

We don't usually get high. I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually taken a hit of what's been offered to me. Even Aiden, the more adventurous one of our group, isn't that into drugs. His dad's some hotshot lawyer, and I think he's been lectured about the sentences given for drug use and possession enough times his father's message sunk in. I think, him and I, we're even considered the good guys in our grade. The guys who are going somewhere in life, who're going to go to good colleges and such.

This bonfire, it's packed, but not packed enough to avoid Chelsea and Daryl and Talya. Talya's with a football player, the guy with a reputation almost as bad as Daryl's. She's all over him, but she kept parading him by me. To make me jealous, maybe. Chelsea is clinging to Daryl like a lost puppy, and while he tosses her a bone occasionally, in the form of an open-mouthed kiss or a backside groping, he ignores her for the most part. In fact, I think he's even going after Emily. His flirting has never been subtle.

So Aiden was pissed enough to insist we move away from the fire, closer to the ocean, where we can watch, but stay far enough away. Emily comes and goes, the social butterfly if there ever was one. She's the one that got the blunt, for free actually, in return for a kiss from Scott. Aiden and Ariana were all over it, and with two drags, Ariana was rambling nonsense. She can't have a very high tolerance level to weed, with her build.

I resisted for a while. There's been kind of a silent agreement between me and Callie that as long as she takes care of herself, I'll take care of myself. As in the drinking.

But when she waltzed onto the scene, the firelight flickering off her smooth skin in a slinky black dress that's got to be Mariana's, arm in arm with Wyatt, her hair cascading down her back as she laughs at something he said, I took the joint from Ariana, and let myself take a drag. Behind them were Lexi and Jesus. Lexi looks as gorgeous as a dying girl can look, in a clearly expensive white dress, and Jesus cleaned up well. They're a bit overdressed, but this is the prom she'll never go to, in a way. Everyone crowded around the girl in the wheelchair at first, exclaiming how beautiful Lexi looked and crying well wishes. There were a lot of tears shed, some from people she probably doesn't even know that well.

Now, most everyone's gone back to nursing beers and flirting obnoxiously. Lexi is perched by the fire, Jesus right by her side. I'm surprised the Rivera's are letting her be here without adult supervision. It's probably because Jesus is with her. They've done a complete one eighty from the days following Mariana's sex scandal revelation. Jesus is like a son to them now. They drive him home from the hospitals some days, which is nice for me.

Callie's nearby, talking with Wyatt, laughing like she never laughs around me. The weed is sapping away all of my inhibations, and I can see now how pretty she really is. It hurts to look at her, and I have to focus my attention on turning away to look at Ariana. She's lying with her head in my lap, staring at the stars and giggling every now and then.

* * *

_Callie_

Wyatt leaves me to go greet some of his friends. The instant he's no longer by my side, I regret letting him go. The social anxiety sets in, and I sit alone on the log, and watch everyone else around me interact. If this was a movie, right around this time, someone would come up to me and start talking. They'd make me feel at ease and the scene would fade out with both of us laughing, getting along splendidly.

Only, no one joins me. I don't recognize a friendly face in the crowd. The heat coming off the fire is starting to get to me and I can feel the sand in my flats. The goddamn things are too fucking small. Mariana insisted on playing dress-up. When she was finished, she stepped back and crowed with delight. 'You look so cute!' I don't feel cute. I feel tired and scared and uncomfortable. I want Wyatt to come back. Even Brandon would be a welcome sight at this moment.

There's movement to the right of me. _My movie moment. _It's just Lexi. Somehow she's maneuvered her wheelchair over to me. Jesus is where she left him, talking with some other sophomore guys. One eye is trained on his girlfriend. It seems she didn't want his help.

"Hey, Callie. You looked lonely." Blunt. I start to like her more and more every day.

"I was. Thanks for coming to the rescue." I try not to care that I sound like a whiny little girl. She smiles wryly.

"I was lonely too." She pauses to breathe. It sounds like it pains her to inhale. "No one knows what to say to me. They all say 'I hope you feel better'. Every single person so far. And I want to laugh in their faces and tell them this is the last time I have to put up with their ignorance."

_What does one say to that?_

"You don't have to answer that." Lexi reaches out to pat my hand, the one not blocking a view up my skirt from all the guys looking our way. _So you can ostracize me and ignore me, but also ogle me? Fuck you. _"Callie... Thanks for talking to me."

She gives me one more pat, and I think that this girl can't be _younger _than me. She's looking death in the eye, and she still has the maturity required to be a simply good person, in spite of what's coming. She rolls back to Jesus. He greeted her with a tender, careful hug, and a kiss on the forehead. I stare at them for a while, watching how they interact, examining the glint in his eye as he traces her face with a finger. They look infinite. They look like nothing will separate them.

"Callie?" It's Wyatt's voice. "My friend, Louis, he wants to meet you."

I have to be careful as I spin to face him. I could get a splinter from this log in very unpleasant places. _Why does his friend want to meet me? If he goes to this school I probably already know him. _

I see Wyatt's face first, a little slack from the alcohol in his system, his grin a little too wide to be sober. His shirt's wet with something. He's got him arm slung around a taller, bigger guy. The guy has strawberry blond hair cut short and narrow, light eyes. He looks thrilled to see me.

"Hi, Callie! My name is Louis. I've heard a lot about you." Those words. Coming from Liam's mouth.

* * *

Brandon finds me behind the line of porta potties. I'm crouching there, my dress slipping off my shoulder, my back against the plastic structures. I can hear people going in and out, taking shits and pisses, sometimes muttering to themselves, sometimes talking to someone else. I hear couples go in, and I hear them go at it, the grunts and muffled shrieks echoing along the length of the potties. I don't even have the presence of mind to consider how disgusting what I can hear is. I'm caught up in the sound of a man's moans and he sounds frighteningly similar to the way Liam sounded, those nights long ago.

I think I'm going to faint for a good portion of the time that I hide there. But my body is full of the fuel and it's not so easy to fade out into unconsciousness anymore. The tears can come now too, full as I am of liquids and no longer dehydrated.

I don't know how he figures out where I am. I didn't even know he was here. I'm wiping the last of the tears from my face, and listening to a new couple start up when he appears before me, like an apparition. He's got a ripped t-shirt on, and his triceps are visible through the holes. His shorts are too large on him, and they hang off his hips so I can see his white briefs. They're clean at least. He's got lipstick on his neck and chin, and he's swaying as he stands above me. Under the influence.

What I wouldn't give for something, anything, to dull the emotions surging forth inside of me.

"Cal... Callie?" He's being too loud. I just barely lost Liam in the smoky darkness, but I'm positive he's still out there, searching. It's not like him to give up.

The fire comes back at the sound of his voice and I spring up onto Brandon, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, feeling the muscles tighten at my touch and his pulse speeds up. He's taller, stronger, more muscular than I am, but I put enough force into my jump that in his state, he falls down easily to the ground with me. I drag him to a sitting position behind the porta potty I've been crouched by.

He tries to talk, but I put a finger over his lips. I can feel the residue of the lipstick left by some girl. Probably the model blond. "Callie?" I can't keep his lips from moving.

"Shut up. You stupid prick. Shut the fuck up." My heartbeat is picking up. It's dark out. We're pretty far away from the party. There's no one using the porta potties now. We're alone. If Liam finds us... If he followed Brandon... He's got to know what Brandon looks like. If he's been taking pictures. It's so hard not to panic. I've never been this terrified before. I've gotten soft, I've forgotten what it's like to be prey. I've let myself go.

"Callie? What's going on?" He wants an answer. He's not going to stop until I give him an answer. He just came to check on me, maybe, and now he wants to go back to whatever girls are waiting for him. He's putting both of us at risk right now. Liam is the jealous type. He finds me here, he finds me with another foster brother, he'll go berserk. And he can't be stopped when he's angry and drunk. It's not a good mixture. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from four feet away earlier, with Wyatt.

"Callie?" I can't face him. Not here. Not now. I lean down, and the nearness of my face shuts Brandon up for a second. He's looking up at me, slightly slouched against the plastic, or metal, or whatever. His eyes are glazed, but the intensity is back, stronger than ever. I can feel his breath rustling the hair by my ear. He opens his mouth again to speak.

My lips meet his. I don't kiss him. I just let his top lip hover against mine, warmer and softer than I remember, and I breathe in his essence, and I whisper to him, his mouth tickling mine as it moves. "Liam is here. He saw me. He spoke to me. He's looking for me. So shut the fuck up before we both have our faces rearranged."

The last part is a lie. Liam won't hit me. He never has, never will. He prefers different methods of hurting me. He will hit Brandon, though, and the idea is more frightening to me than anything he'll do to me. Brandon is just a boy. He's just a kid who's never hurt anyone, who doesn't know how to hurt, to fight. He's defenseless, especially high off his mind. I need to protect Brandon from the horrors of this world, for however long I can.

It's a stupid thought. But my speech quieted the boy beneath me, and now he closes his mouth, and I realize it's no longer necessary to be so close, to brush noses and eyelashes. I don't want to move. I'm swallowing up the sight of him, and his scent, and the feel of his bare skin through the holes in his shirt. It's better than being high. It's like being happy.

There are footsteps nearby, and I draw back a little, my heart unable to pound any faster than it already is, but keep my hands on Brandon. He's bound to do something stupid if Liam shows up. The common sense I think he prides himself on is only there when he's sober.

It's two people though, a boy and a girl by the sound of it, and they stumble into the porta potty we're leaned up against. Brandon is silent, completely silent, beside me as the couple starts to fuck, noisily, right behind us. We're both shaken by the movement, and he shifts a little closer, by accident, I think. I find my head on his shoulder, and his arms encircle me. I cry into his chest, the firm flesh barely yielding as I push closer to him, so my skull rubs against his sternum. He doesn't complain and I make no sound. The boy and the girl moan and whine, not a foot from us, as he holds me.


	21. Chapter 21

**_Guys, I have a problem. My self-esteem is like directly linked to my reviews (: seriously some of the nice stuff you guys say makes me tear up. Some top reviewers off the top of my head are: Catarina, (Omigod it won't let me write it but abby . lotspiech)_****_, marinameeks21, Alexis, Raelyn723, Stephy-Dearestxxo, and my bestest friend ever, Sam :* Thanks to my very first reviewer as well: PercyJacksonWillKickYourButt ! And if I didn't mention you, I love you as well, and PM me for recognition! I'm addicted to the attention The Wrong Choice is getting. It_****___'s also a problem. So, by all means, recommend it to a friend or on a blog or site or whatever. AND PLEASE I feed off of your feedback! In case you're wondering about me (like whether or not I'm a fifty year old man or not) here's a brief bio before you get to read the chapter. I'm fifteen, going to be a sophomore. I should be writing an English paper right now, but I'm doing this. I didn't originally plan to involve an eating disorder in the story, but I've been trying to 'become one' with Callie, and so a bit of me rubbed off on her character. I'm all better now though and Callie will be soon. In fact, I just ran FIVE miles today for cross-country (I finished before you Sam). Excuse me if the kissing scenes are bad... I don't write from experience. I like green tea ice cream, the Vampire Diaries, Supernatural, Law&Order SVU, and David Lambert. Okay. Now you can read. And then review. If I get to 300 reviews, I'll figure out a reward. Taking suggestions_**

_Callie_

Timothy has us doing some idiotic paper for English class and it's sapping up all of my free time. We have to read this absolutely _awful _book called 'How to Read Literature Like a Professor'. The author tries to be clever and witty and interesting, and he just comes off sounding like a total elitist prick. He references probably a hundred works of literature, and I only recognized Harry Potter. And 'A Raisin in the Sun'. And Shakespeare.

Besides, what if I don't _want _to read literature like a professor? I can't come close to picturing myself as some stuffy, uptight college professor lecturing a room full of students. I've really only pictured working in a restaurant, or behind a desk in some skyscraper. Maybe McDonald's. You shouldn't look down on people who work at McDonald's. One foster sibling once told me Bill Gates worked there before he became a billionaire. Probably false.

As if reading over two-hundred pages of some middle-aged man trying to relate to teenagers while making them feel like ignorant shits wasn't enough, we have to use 'what we learned' in a five-page essay about a different book. Complete and utter bullshit.

Wyatt agrees. I'm at his house now, as he decided to throw an 'essay party'. In all reality, it's just me and him, and I had to beg him to let me come over. The Foster household is getting unbearable.

Stef's the only sane one. Lena tries to go on like nothing has changed. She putters around the kitchen and checks in with all of us multiple times to make sure schoolwork is being completed. From what I can tell, everyone single one of us is not doing as well in school as we should. Me, for obvious reasons. Jesus, his girlfriend is dying and homeschooling isn't for him. Mariana, she's either out with her new friends, or arranging outfits for both her and me. It's become her new obsession, I guess you would call it. She hums play tunes and picks through the closet, huffing with exasperation at times, and squealing with delight at some garments. I let her be. It's not hurting me. Brandon, he's just simply slipping. Ariana's got to have him too busy to study.

Jude, he's been struggling with the knowledge that Lexi's in the hospital. She used to paint his nails with Mariana when she came over, and she was the one who showed him how to work the cheats for his PSP. I think it also reminds him of when our mother was sick. I know it. He spoke to me about it yesterday.

"Callie?" I was in the middle of a particularly boring chapter of 'How to Read Literature Like a Professor'. I was lying on my bed and Mariana was out.

"Yeah buddy?" I tend to use nicknames with him. He doesn't like me calling him Jude. I don't think he even likes anyone calling him that. Months of hearing that very same name hollered throughout the little one-story house we lived in, fury and aggression laced in the single syllable, can ruin it for anyone. I don't call him Jude. Or little guy. That's the term Liam liked.

"Is Lexi going to die? Is she going to die like Mom did?" I keep having to remind myself that he's not a little kid anymore when he looks up at me like that, big eyes swimming. He's a pre-teenager, and a lie wouldn't work in that moment. He's clever. He already knew the answer, most likely. He was hoping I could prove him wrong.

"Baby. Lexi might die, yes. But not like Mom. Lexi has had time to say her goodbyes. She's not scared, honey. You shouldn't be either. This is different." I used the usual soothing tone, but it didn't work. Not one bit.

He got angry, shifting from his perch at the foot of my bed and standing up over me. "Why does Lexi get to say goodbye and Mom didn't? How does that work? How is that fair at all? I can't even remember the sound of her voice, Callie! I don't know what she smelled like. _You _got to know her and I didn't! And now Lexi gets time and Mom's brain turned to mush in a second, and we just had to stare at her in that stupid small bed until they pulled the cord. How is that fucking fair at all?"

I was stunned by the horrid anger that had taken over him. It shone from his eyes, and his little fists were in balls by his sides. I haven't seen him like this for a while. Not since our foster father tamed him, in the loosest sense of the word.

"Jude, honey, it's going to be okay." I saturated his name with my well meanings and love for him, but it was hard to do, struggling as I was. "Don't use that language though, okay? Mom would want you to be kind to Lexi. Life isn't fair sometimes."

He stilled and looked at me for the longest time. "Mom would want you to take care of me. And when have you ever done that?"

He hit me where it hurt. And it hurt so bad. "I've always tried to take care of you. You mean the world to me." As I recall, my voice gave out at the last few words.

"Really?" He doesn't want an answer.

"Yes-"

"Then why didn't you fight harder to keep them from pulling the plug? Why'd you get us kicked out of the Olmsteads? Why'd you let Ron do all those things to you - while I had to watch? Why'd you go to juvy, and leave me? Why are you trying to hard to mess up our one last chance of having a family? I see you running; I see you coming in late; I see how you look at Brandon. You're going to mess everything up, Callie."

Brandon's name was the trigger for the tears that flowed from my eyes. Jude knew. At least a little. And I'd tried so hard. For him. To resist. To fight. My main motivation for eating was Jude. Always him.

"That's not fair." I sounded like child, sniveling and shrinking from the boy looming over me.

His eyes traveled up to my forehead, settling on the deep scar I hadn't bothered to put concealer on yet. "Why do I have to live with the knowledge that I hurt my own sister?"

I lost it at that point. And he walked out of my room, stony-faced and unaffected by my cries. He'd come to me seeking comfort. And I'd failed him. How many times was that now?

* * *

"Callie!" Wyatt's face is an inch from mine. "Earth to Callie."

I smile, as he knows I will. "Cheesy isn't a good look on you. Don't ever say that again."

"Earth to Callie. Ear-" I interrupt him with a kiss. He kisses back with no hesitation, and tries to deepen it, pushing me down on the floor and leaning over me. His hair is irritating my earlobe.

"Wyatt!" It's not me screaming his name. It's a hoarse-voiced woman downstairs, and she sounds pissed.

"Not right now, Mom!" He pulls away from me and I can see the frown lines forming between his eyebrows. "I have company!"

"I don't care! ShopRite let me go. Even after I told the manager I'd just been laid off at the elementary school. Blames the budget cuts. I need you to get off your ass, and find a second job until I get another one. They always prefer the young ones to the older ones! Get rid of the girl and call in for extra shifts at the CVS, also!" She's making a ton of noise beneath us. The house they're renting is creaky and old, something out of a horror movie. I understand why Wyatt doesn't want me coming here. I've never met his mom though, and the understanding becomes even more clear as I hear her shout.

Wyatt's off his game. I've never seen him truly let down his guard, and now, with his mother yelling and my face turning red, he's vulnerable.

"Callie? I'm so sorry, but can you get a ride home? When she gets like this..." He trails off. It's odd, but I'm touched by the fact that he cares what I think of him. He wants my approval. "One of your friends maybe?"

"Oh, yeah, sure." _If I had friends._ "Don't worry about it. Come over my place anytime." His comments long ago about me being essentially a slut resurface but I push it away. He hurt me. Big deal. He's hurting now.

He manages to get me out the door without running into his mom, an admirable feat considering how tiny the house is. I sit on the stoop for a while, listening to the arguing but not picking out individual words. It's just a background noise as I consider who to call. I'm fifteen miles away from home. I can't walk the distance. _Fuck._

* * *

_Brandon_

Ariana's trying to convince me to have sex with her. It's an odd situation. I'm pretty sure any other guy would leap on top with no hesitation whatsoever. She's already got her top off, and she's smiling sweetly up at me. She's not a slut. She's only ever slept with one other guy as far as I know. And she wants me to have the honor.

It just feels _wrong._ I don't know why. The slow music coming from her speakers is soothing. Her parents are in Europe. The house is empty. She's basically attempting to seduce me. She's even got the candles going. The sunlight is shielded by a thick layer of heavy, dark clouds. Her room smells like jasmine. Her bed is extremely comfortable. Her sheets are the highest count I've ever seen.

She wants me.

I don't want her.

"Ariana, no. I don't even have condoms. I have to get home soon." I'm trying to pull my shirt back into place. She got it up around my neck, but it got caught there.

"I have condoms." The shiny package she pulls out is revolting for a second. "And we can be done quickly." A wink. Her eyes are so pretty. Bluer than mine, lighter than the sky on the nicest day of the year. I want to tell her that she doesn't need to take her shirt off. Her eyes are enough. But they're too similar to mine on some days. I can't imagine looking at her in the middle of doing the nasty, and seeing a mirror image. It'd be like having sex with myself.

I'm drunk. Another excuse for my train of thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Ari. I got to go." My phone rings as I pull myself off of her impossibly soft mattress. She's pouting, but I think there's a flicker of relief in her features. She'll be grateful we didn't have sex, in the long run.

I'm not boyfriend material.

"Hello?"

* * *

_Callie_

A car pulls up in front of Wyatt's house. I'm still by the curb of the road, flexing my calves and deciding whether or not to bother Lena with a ride.

I don't recognize the car. The windows are tinted. It's probably Brandon, here to 'rescue' me in one of his girlfriends' vehicles, having somehow heard I'm in need of a ride. Stef's the only one I told so far, and she's thirty minutes away from here, on duty.

I'm distracted by the opening of the front door behind me. I twist around too fast and lose my balance, falling off the curb and onto the street. Wyatt hurtles down the stairs and helps me up. My back is to the car.

"Thought I wouldn't notice you hadn't left?" He's smiling again, that devilish smirk I've come to know well. "It's alright. Your friends probably don't have their licenses, right?"

"Um. Yeah. So are you going to be my chauffeur? Decided to ditch your mom for me?" Back to joking around. I forget about Brandon behind me. Mostly.

He laughs with me. "No, I gotta take her to the YMCA. Fill out unemployment slips or something. I don't know. But, hey, I was talking to my friend from work, and he's in the area. He'll give you a ride. I gave him your address and everything. He's a cool guy, don't worry."

Something's happening. My pulse is thundering and the muscles of my abdomen clench. Wyatt continues. "I think you've met him actually. At the bonfire Friday? Before you bailed on me." Another laugh. I'm shuddering now. I don't think I'll be able to suck in enough oxygen to breathe.

"His name's Louis. He's actually right over there." Wyatt lifts a finger to point. At Liam.

How many times can this keep happening? It's like I'm living in the TV show Pretty Little Liars. And there are too many twists for it to be believable.

But this is actually happening, right here and now, and Wyatt's giving me a push in the direction of my former foster brother, kissing me on the cheek, and apologizing again for the mishap. "See you in school tomorrow."

What does one do in this scenario? The audience in my head is screaming for me to turn around, to cling to Wyatt and phone 911. They're calling me 'stupid' and 'idiotic' as I advance towards the man before me. The thing is, you can't judge someone for how they act in such a situation, unless you've been in it yourself. It's easy to yell at the dumb blond in the horror movie who enters the abandoned house, or opens the door to the attic in the middle of the night, because you don't understand the complete confusion that takes over a person's mind in such a case. You just don't know.

Liam stands by the driver's side, and grins widely at me as I edge towards the passenger seat door.

"By all means, get in." He's so friendly, so inviting. It's an unwelcome blast from the past, and I think I stumble a little when I reach the car.

_"Callie, would you like some peas? Ernie grew them in the garden himself, didn't you hon?" Mrs. Olmstead gives her husband a fond look as she hoists the ceramic bowl up off the tablecloth and offers it to me. Her underarm fat is swaying, and I can see it's too heavy for her. What else is there to do but nod yes and take it from her?_

_"Can I have some when you're done?" Jude is eyeing the bowl. He's hit his growth spurt recently, and it's all I can do to keep him from ravaging the kitchen. We're guests in this household. You'd think he'd be more considerate by now, after we'd been through over a half dozen homes. _

_"Hold your horses, big man." Mr. Olmstead chuckles and pats his growing waist. "Let your sister have some first. I swear, even Liam never got this hungry when he was your age, and he was twice your size. You remember that, son?"_

_"Yes. I was always hungry." It's a perfectly normal reply, other than the fact that Liam never takes his eyes off of me. I squirm in my seat, appetite gone, and well aware that Jude is silently noting the focus of Liam's attention. _

_The Olmsteads aren't as observant, and they soldier on in the conversation. "We've been meaning to talk to you kids about something." Mrs. Olmstead starts in. _

_That introduction has never boded well for us. It's usually followed by the claim that Jude is too boisterous and I'm too independent, or some other bullshit. 'We've loved having you, but it's time for you kids to find a permanent home, and I don't think it's with us. We just can't keep you anymore.' The speech will be welcome from this family, however. I cross my fingers under my thighs, and meet Liam's fixed gaze briefly before my eyes find Jude's round face. He's already digging in to the peas, but I can tell he's alert. Food helps him concentrate somehow. _

_I need out of here. Now. I need to get out. But I can't tell anyone why, or it'll be my fault if we leave. Jude won't like me then. So I pray this family, the best foster family Jude's had so far, has had enough. It's selfish. But I haven't slept a full night's sleep in weeks, and my pelvis hurts constantly. I have to hide the hickeys with makeup. I take pills that make me sleep better. He doesn't care if I'm awake or not when he does it. _

_I can't live like this. I can't even let the thought of Jude distract me from the need. I hurt. All over. In my heart worst of all._

_"Callie. Jude. We're thinking we'd like to adopt you." Mr. Olmstead speaks with confidence, looking to us for our reactions. Jude shovels in another mouthful of food. 'Awesome!' My jaw unhinges and I think I'm going to scream. It'd be really nice to just go for it, and break all of their glass and china with the agony in my voice, and then they'd never want to keep us._

_"Now I have a brother and sister." Liam's smile is gone. He just stares at me and I can read what he's really thinking in those blank, inhuman eyes. 'You're not leaving anytime soon'._

* * *

"Buckle up." When I don't immediately comply, he leans over me and grabs the seat belt. The feeling of his bulk on me is so familiar, I think I'm going to throw up with almost certainty. There isn't anything in my system to throw up, however. I've been fasting since I talked to Jude. It's a religious kind of thing, I think. Brings me closer to God and such.

I can taste the sour, pungent bile in my throat and I spit the acid onto him, letting the walls go up as high as they go and double-locking the doors that allow entry to my mind. The fight is filtering back into, slowly, haltingly, but I'm still shaken from Jude's outburst, and I'm off my game. My saliva misses him and lands on the steering wheel. It sticks for a second or two, before sinking to the floor of the car.

The click of the seat belt makes me jump. "Don't want you getting hurt." His voice is like music to my ears. The kind that you hear over and over again on the radio, and you're sick of it, but you let it play anyway. It's become habit.

He nudges the little glob of my spit on the floor, with a black loafer and lifts a hand to me. I cringe, waiting for the sting. I underestimated him. He can hurt me and he will. My eyes are shut tight. I've learned it helps a little, not to see the hand descending at a rapid speed. It also protects your eyeballs from being scratched by a man's overgrown nails.

The moment of impact never comes. Instead, his voice. "I'm not going to hurt you, Callie! What a silly thing to even consider." His palm meets my face, slowly, and he brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."

I push his hand away.

I'm done cowering. I done letting him fuck with me. He raped me. He raped me over and over again and he got away with it. He turned my brother against me. He's the reason we were sent to Ron, who turned the crazy, lighthearted little boy I knew, into a quiet, people-pleasing child. He did it all with a smile. Liam fucked me up for life, and I'll never get to tell my friends about the special night I lost my virginity. Because it wasn't special. And I lost it to a monster.

"Why are you here? Why are you doing this?" He turns the key in the ignition as I speak, and starts the engine.

"Just visiting you. We're old friends. I'm surprised you haven't reached out earlier." He keeps his eyes on the road for the most part, but I get a crooked smile at the last part.

"You're stalking me, Liam. What happened is in the past. I don't need a reminder of what you did to me." I'm trying so hard to be calm.

"Did to you? You wanted it. You wanted to go brag to your friends that you snagged an older guy. If anything, I'm the victim here." He's calm too, so calm I want to sink my teeth into his flesh and tear away at him until he screams like I screamed that first night.

"You _RAPED _me. I didn't ask for anything." I speak in a whisper. I don't have the strength of mind for anything more.

He turns to me, and the car jerks a little to the right. "Is that what you're telling people? Trying to cover up the fact that you're a whore? If you even think about telling the cop, Stephanie, I swear..."

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. I hear the message loud and clear. And it chills me to the bone. "I haven't said anything. I promise."

"No? What about Samantha? Or Kelly? Or Diana?"

I'm at a loss for words. He knows the names of the girls I hung out with. Once. This isn't child's play.

"Or, even better yet, Brandon? Did you tell Brandon?" He's got that look in his eye. The one that tells me right off the bat, he's in charge. I'm powerless. He had that very same look the morning after the first rape and the day Jude and I were sent packing. Or rather, he gave me that look as he stood over me on the stretcher, my forehead matted with my own blood.

"I didn't tell him anything." He's got to know I'm lying. My voice trembles violently.

"Really? Even with all those runs you've taken together? You know, I was really upset with myself for forgetting my camera the day you two kissed. I would have liked to capture it on film. I could tell you didn't like it as much as when I kissed you." He's pulling up to the house now, slowing to a crawl.

I'm so horrified. I'm scared. The brief bravado from before is gone. As soon as Liam uttered Brandon's name, I had lost.

"That's him there now, isn't it?" Liam points, and there's dirt caked underneath his fingernails. I have to focus on the little details. Otherwise, the sight of Brandon climbing out of his car nimbly, checking his phone casually, would derail me. And Liam's looking right at him.

I have to distract him before he gets out of the car. "Liam. I'll keep our secret. Please, just please, stop with the pictures. And leave me be. The past is the past. Liam, if I mean anything to you, don't come near me again."

His focus is back on me. "We'll see, Callie. Talk to you later. I've got a shift coming up soon. Give Brandon my regards."

That's my cue to escape. Brandon can hear the engine idling now, and he's turning towards us quizzically. He can't see into the car, and he approaches slowly.

"Liam. Please." I move to open the door, and he doesn't stop me.

* * *

_Brandon_

Callie moves towards me like there's something broken inside of her. It's not quite a limp, but the pain is evident on her face. She smiles a weak greeting at me, and that tips me off. She's been ignoring me since the bonfire. It's been two days already, and we haven't made eye contact once. We'd stayed by those porta potties for ages, until the beach was empty, and her breathing finally slowed. Our dates had left without us, which is weird on my part, as I'd been the driver for three others coming there. They all had found rides. She rode with me home, still shaken and looking over her shoulder constantly. And we took two steps back in our relationship. She avoided the house at mealtimes and started spending lunch off-campus.

I know what's happened, and I run to her and past her, chasing the person in the car who's done this to her. It has to be Liam. He's back. He's really back.

He's long gone by the time I reach the end of the road. I stand there, gasping for breath, and overcome by anger at this disgusting fuck and anger at myself for my complete uselessness, I punch the sidewalk. No satisfaction comes from the action. The cement bloodies my knuckles and a wave of agony sweeps through me. It's nothing compared to what she's got to be feeling. I can't come close to imagining. The thought hurts more than my fist.

She's not in the driveway where I left her when I get back. The front door is swinging shut. She walked away from me, and the comfort I can't offer her.

Mom's all dressed up in nice slacks and a glittery blue blouse when I make it into the house. I've got my right hand in my pocket, where the inner lining of the fabric slows the flow of blood. Lena's by the sink, oddly out of place in her silver dress, scrubbing a stain in one of the oven mitts. It was Jesus who spilled the cranberry juice.

Mariana, Jude, and Jesus are on the steps. They're in nice cloths as well. Callie's just disappearing upstairs. I make to follow her, but Mom addresses me.

"B, hon, we've been waiting. I don't think my texts got through." I had received several text messages from her today, but choose to ignore them. Better that she doesn't know that. "There's been a development-"

"Lexi's medicine started to kick in. They think there's a chance she'll pull through." Jesus isn't in the mood to dance around the subject. He's beaming, thrilled, and I can see his knee shaking like it always does when he's excited.

Lena cuts in, giving Jesus a warning glance. "Her chances are slightly better, yes, but there are no guarantees."

Mom actually explains why Lexi's progress has affected their wardrobe. "We're going out to dinner at Olive Garden. Mom found a gift certificate from way back in her purse. We're celebrating the good news. Callie's getting changed now. Throw on something nice, and meet us on the porch. You're driving Callie and Jude. Mom and I have the twins." She raises her voice at me. "Go! Go! Go! Time for some Forced Foster Family Fun!"

I scoot around my siblings to get up the stairs. The door to Callie's room is closed. I slam my door behind me and face plant onto the bed. Forced Foster Family Fun is the last thing I need right now.


	22. Chapter 22

**_Hello my dearest readers :) You guys should check out a Brallie fanfic by Whovian531 ! She's really nice and her story is really good. It takes place in the future, when Brandon is home visiting his family from college. On another note, thank you so much for the kindness and reviews. I reread them multiple times a day. I'm being cheesy, but whatever. I love you guys to the moon and back. I think I like you better than my real life friends (: (hi Sam). Feel free to email me (hadleygreenwoodshr gmail . com) or follow me on twitter ( onedayfred) or instagram ( _hadley_) or tumblr (hadleytay506)! happyish chapter here, considering all that's going on. The whole family is in on it, guys!_**

_Callie_

Mariana tells me the night's plan is dinner at Olive Garden and possibly another 'fun' activity to follow. According to her, it's Stef and Lena's go-to when they want some family bonding.

When I got up to our room, I found a black top and tan leggings laid out for me. There was a thong there too. Probably for avoiding panty lines. _Fuck that_. But Mariana would be upset if I didn't play mannequin to her stylist. The thong went in the hamper.

The leggings are a little short, being that they belong to Mariana and all. The top is a soft sweater I'd assume to be cashmere if I didn't know better. It falls just below my butt, which is a relief, as I'd rather my 'hipsters' weren't on display for everyone to see. My hair's been in a messy bun all day, and it was tangled when I let it down, but it looks good, curly somehow. My only makeup is a little foundation for the pimple starting to sprout by my hairline. Stress does that to you, I've heard.

It helps to focus on the little things. It's nice to consume my mind with trivial things. Lately it's been easier to worry about my face, and my hair, and my skin. Possibly because I'm living under the same roof as two teenage boys. I'm pretty sure Jesus doesn't fit into the equation though. He's like a little brother, my favorite of the Foster kids. I don't think there's one fault I have with him.

It has to be Brandon. He's the reason I'm starting to care whether or not I look like shit when I come down for breakfast. He might even have attributed to the whole 'get in shape' thing I had going on for a while, at least a little bit. I mean, it's ironic, now he's trying to get me to gain weight, like he doesn't even know he brings out the shallow teenage girl in me. He doesn't even know that his penetrating gaze when I walk into a room makes me want to go upstairs and comb my hair again, or change into something better. Something more like what Ariana would wear.

I thought I was looking pretty good, maybe seven out of a scale of ten, when I left the room. I was caught up in adjusting the sweater so my thighs didn't look too gigantic, when the sight of Jude's pale, round face peering up the stairs at me brought me crashing back to reality.

Now we're stuck in the backseat of Brandon's car together. No one's talking. Brandon has the radio set on classical music, so it's not like that provides much of a distraction. It was already decided by the time I got down that Jude and I would ride with him, and the twins are with Stef and Lena. They're probably discussing whatever breakthrough there was with Lexi. I'd give almost anything to ride with them instead, although I'm sure there'll be plenty of tears on Mariana's part. Anything would be better than the twenty minute drive I'm facing with the very two people who mean the most to me. And both, consequently, have unfinished business.

Brandon wants to talk. He wants answers. It's impossible _not_ to notice. I can feel the waves of frustration and anger coming off of him in copious amounts. The car is too small to hold the charged energy between us. Something about the strength of the emotions he's feeling, I don't know, but when we make eye contact I think I'm drowning. He's been drinking. But it's mostly out of his system, as far as I can tell, and I've gotten pretty good with telling the degrees of how shit-faced someone is. It's been a survival skill in the past. His pupils are dilated, and his irises are akin to the sky right before a storm. I can see something building up, spewing over, inside of him. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. He's got a little dab of gel in his hair, and it was applied badly. His soft curls haven't been tamed at all, and they stand out starkly against the white skin of his neck.

He looks older in his blazer and tie. He could pass off as a guy in his twenties. There's something about the angles of his face that makes him timeless, like thirty years from now, he'll still be breaking hearts left and right. He's going to be one of those people who gets more and more attractive as they age. I can just tell.

I turn off the triggers in my brain constantly attuned to him as best as I can. I need to focus on Jude.

He's slumped against the door, no seat belt, and he's facing away from me. A big part of me wants to just leave him be, still reeling from his attack on me yesterday. I want to sulk and pout, and talk to Brandon _just _as a slap in the face to Jude. It's incredibly tempting and horrifyingly sadistic at the same time. For once, I want to stop playing protective, caring sister and show him what someone who really didn't care about him would act like. I want to see that realization in his eyes that I've done the best I can all these years. That I'm the one who's suffered the most. That he has no clue what happened with Liam and he was wrong to blame me.

We're pulling onto the turnpike before I even manage to get control over my thoughts. _You're disgusting, Callie. Be the bigger person. _Brandon's going to be able to hear this. Too bad. There's no other time I'll be able to get Jude to talk to me. At home, he'll just walk into another room, knowing I won't pursue the conversation with one of the Fosters present. He'll evade me forever, and the bad feelings will simmer on, and start to rot in our insides. We can't continue like this. He's my only family member left. There's no room for emotions.

"Jude?" His actual name. I've already unconsciously tried to hurt him. "You excited to go out for dinner?"

Brandon looks back at me. I think he's been too immersed in his own mental turmoil to notice the tension between my brother and me. He cocks an eyebrow at me, but I give him the universal glare for 'keep your mouth shut'. He purses his lips-they're swollen and chapped, yet somehow manage to look even more appealing-and turns back to the highway. Some asshole cuts him off and he swears softly. I'm pretty sure the anger isn't stemming from road rage.

Jude's watching the silent exchange when I turn back to him. He's too observant for his own good. It's irritating and frightening, the more I start to notice it. _How much does he know about Liam?_ I'd be revolted to find out he knew, not just because what happened was a disgusting thing no young boy should know about, but because then he still blames me, even with the knowledge of rape. I don't think I could manage that. I've been holding out hope, that someday, when he's older, he'll find out it wasn't consensual, that it wasn't my fault we got kicked out, and he'll start to forgive me.

There's so many things wrong with that idea though. It was my fault, at least a little. I led Liam on, I encouraged him. If he was telling the truth in the car today-_that didn't happen, Callie, that didn't happen-_he thinks we both wanted it. Did I? I can almost say no with absolute certainty, but the memories are fuzzy, and I'm starting to doubt myself. I'm so rattled from today's encounter-_didn't happen-_I can't be sure of anything.

Jude's not crying, really, but there are silent tears gliding gently down his face. The bitter expression remains, yet he lets me lean over and pull him to me. "I'm sorry for before, Cal. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I just love this family, and I don't think I can leave them, and I can't let you get us kicked out this time. I don't want to see what Ron did to you happen again. I love you, but I need happiness in my life. I like the Fosters."

His voice is muffled by my sweater, but I know Brandon can hear. He stiffens at the part about Ron. If possible, his hands tighten further around the wheel, and his jaw is clenched. There's a blood vessel thrumming in his throat. I can see the power in him, pulsing just below his skin, and he frightens and excites me.

Mouth-diarrhea. That's the only explanation for what I say next. "I hear you, buddy. I hear you. I like this family too. I promise I'll be better this time. But there's something I want you to know." He's looking up, and Brandon's eyes are on the road, where they should be, and I can't stop myself. "I didn't do it, Jude. I didn't get us kicked out. Not really. Liam... Liam made me be in a relationship with him. I didn't choose it."

Jude's skeptical now, the bitterness seeping back in slowly. "Don't lie to me, Callie. That's not what we were even talking about."

He shouldn't be like this. He shouldn't be so hard and so hurt at the same time. To think of what he's been through makes my heart ache. But then I think of what I've been through, and I resent him, just the littlest bit.

I keep doing it, but I can't stop. I look over at Brandon. He's already watching me, and the anger is slightly drained out of his expression. He's trying to reassure me with just facial expressions.

He's not doing a good job.

"Forget it Jude. I'm sorry for making excuses. I love you and that's all that matters. Don't worry about the rest. We're going to be with the Fosters for a while. I'm not going to screw this up." Jude relaxes against me. He pulls the PSP out of nowhere and boots up some zombie-killing game. It actually looks like fun.

One last look at Brandon for the night, and I'm done.

* * *

_Brandon_

"B, what's this English project you've been spending all your time at the library doing?" Mom's so onto me. She knows I haven't been at the library after school this past week. I can tell from her tone of voice. She uses it when she's preparing to catch me in a lie.

I think Callie, Jesus, and Mariana all snort simultaneously at the question. They didn't pick up on the sarcasm, and think Mom honestly has no clue that I've been out with my friends and Ariana all time. Either that, or they're laughing along with Stef at my indiscretion. Whatever. I'll play along.

Callie talks before I can. "We're reading a book by that guy, Foster, I think. Same last name, but no similarities to you guys whatsoever." She's been throwing herself into the conversation all dinner, partly, I think, to show Jude that she's not going to ruin his chances of adoption, and partly to avoid the questions that might come if she stops distracting us all from the untouched plate before her.

Lena joins in. "Oh, I know that assignment! All the juniors are doing it, right?"

Callie and I nod our heads in unison.

I feel like I have a point to prove, like I have to say something that shows I've been doing my work. There's never been any question before to any of my siblings or moms as to whether or not I'm on top of things. I need to show them I'm still in the same place I was a few months ago. "Yeah. I'm almost done with it. We had to read a book and compare it to Foster's. Timothy wouldn't let me change my book after I read the first few pages of it. He even recommended it to me originally."

"What book?" Mariana is playing with the crab cake on her plate. It's got a rubbery texture and makes odd sounds when she smacks her fork against it. Jesus and I told her not to order it, but she ignored us. As always.

"One Day. They made a movie of it, I'm pretty sure. Anne Hathway and Jim Sturgess."

Jude elbows Callie at the last part and they both laugh. We all turn to look. I can see the tension is still there. In order for them both to giggle so freely, this has to be a special inside joke. "What?"

"Callie's had the biggest crush on him since she was seven." Jude smiles. "Whenever we watched a movie with him in it, she'd dress up for the occasion and sit all nice in case he could see her through our TV screen."

Mom loses it at the last part, and Lena has to pat her on the back a couple times. Jesus grins, but it's clear his mind is elsewhere. Mariana and I just exchange disbelieving looks. It's hard to picture Callie in that scenario. Not the Callie we know.

"Priceless." I can tell Mom's going to be telling that story for years to come. I don't see what's so funny. He's not even that attractive. _Am I jealous of a movie star? That's fucked up._

I chuckle stiffly. Lena cuts in, saving the conversation from that awkward moment just after a joke, when everyone's finishing laughing, and no words are being spoken. "I know the book. Two college friends remain platonic for ten or fifteen years and then, finally, when they get together, the girl gets hit by a bus. Not my favorite love story."

Mom puts her hand over Lena's and they do that mushy, loving look I've gotten used to by now. "Just goes to show that you've got to embrace love while you have it, no matter how fleeting."

Callie objects to that, her voice cracking a little as she speaks. "Eh, not so much. More like loving someone just opens you up to more possibilities of being hurt. My humble opinion, at least." She's avoiding my gaze like the plague. I have to still myself and watch her for a little bit. She's got fettuccine sauce on the tips of her hair from when she leaned forward over the table. Her lips are pale, just slightly tinged with pink, her skin is glowing radiantly. Her petite nose is flanked by blushing red cheeks, and her chin has a dimple that only appears when she's really thinking hard or trying to hold something back.

"That book is like the gayest thing a teenage guy can read, Brandon! How many black eyes have you gotten for that?" There goes Jesus, no filter as always. Callie and Jude look back and forth from him to our moms, waiting to see their reactions to the casual slur. Mom doesn't comment on it, and reaches over to steal a shrimp from Lena's plate. Lena's back is straighter than usual, and I think I see her left eye twitch.

It's time for a change of subject. And she'll kill me for this. "How was the fettuccine alfredo, Callie? I almost ordered it, but the five cheese marinara won me over. Can I have some when you're done?"

I want to smile at the glare she shoots me. I shouldn't take delight in this. She's genuinely struggling. But I've done some research, and I'm pretty sure I didn't just piss of her, I actually pissed off the anorexic tumor or whatever in her brain. I'm smiling in the face of whatever is trying to hurt the beautiful girl across me.

Mom has to get involved now. "Callie, honey, you haven't eaten anything? Are you feeling okay?" There's that look in her eyes again, the one that tells me she knows what she's doing. Mom knows what's going on for the most part. She's probably been trying to keep her space; let Callie work it out on her own. My prompting has set off her mother instincts, and she's just getting started.

"Yeah, I'm not feeling so-" Mom's not taking any of her bullshit. The rest of us just watch.

"Because that dinner cost nearly twenty dollars! We don't want it to go to waste." Mom laughs lightly, smiling innocently at Callie. She's good, pulling the guilt card.

It works, because Callie digs in, boring daggers into me the entire time from under her loose curls.

* * *

I don't know whose idea it was to go bowling, but I want to throttle them. I have homework. I'm hungover. I'm tired. And I'm not getting good vibes off of a certain member of Forced Foster Family Fun.

Callie rides with our moms. I get Jesus and Jude. Somehow, Jesus manages to engage Jude in a conversation that lasts the entire car ride to the bowling alley. I let the sound of their voices fade into the background, and focus on the melody coming from the speakers. It's a piano and guitar duet. It's been ages since I played with Callie. Music therapy wasn't for her.

It's ridiculous, in my opinion, that we're even going out bowling. It's seven, fairly early still, but we're in nice clothes, and no one seems that enthusiastic about the idea. Jesus just wants to be at the hospital, but they're doing testing today, so he isn't allowed. He's held up pretty well so far, but I'm pretty sure he's been forgetting to take his pills lately with all the chaos, and it's starting to show in his demeanor. His leg is going up and down lightning fast beside me. I reach out and tap his kneecap, giving him a glance. All I get in return is an amused, anxious smirk.

Lena's the most excited for the bowling. The place where we go is pretty expensive, but I don't think she cares. Like Mariana's Quinceanera, she tends to go all out on family activities. I'm pretty sure she thinks we'll feel more like her own children if she spends more money on us. I try and tell her the idea is ridiculous, but between my dad's constant remarks about him and Mom being my parents, and the Mariana's contact with her birth mother, Lena gets insecure of our family's bond at times. I've considered calling her 'Mom', but it's too confusing to consider.

The parking lot is relatively quiet for a Thursday night. I park next to Lena's car, and we group together. Callie and Mariana are whispering together in the rear of the group about something or other. The sight makes me happy, similar to how I felt when I realized Mariana and Talya got along well.

Completely different situation.

There are some guys, thirties maybe, perched on benches outside the entrance. They're beefy and built, but they're dressed like the few homeless people there are in our area. One of them appears transfixed by the sight of Mom and Lena holding hands, his yellow teeth visible as he grins. I can smell them from here.

Jude, at the front of our little crowd, just passes them when the big one, the one fascinated by our moms, leers at us and starts to talk in a rough, gravelly voice. "We got some lesbians here, don't we? And some kids. It's kinda like a song, eh? Two butch bitches, three fairy princes, and two smoking sluts. I'd go for you, honey. I like Hispanics. Or maybe, Miss Skinny Skanky right here. You're cute. The boys are gonna be jealous when I show 'em you! I think I want you actually."

Callie's stopped just behind me, and she's shaking, trembling so hard I can feel the vibrations in my bones. I feel her weight give slightly against me, and she's leaning against my back, warm and chilled at the same time. Mariana falls behind me as well, but her presence doesn't make my blood boil and hair stand up. I do want to protect her though, almost as fiercely as Callie, maybe more. The urges are both so different. Mariana, I want to whisk her away and throw her in her room and lock her up where these men can't get to her. Callie, I want to hold her tightly and whisper comforts in her ear before going on to pummel the man who's threatened her into the ground. I want to carry her to safety, and lie with her through the night until her body stops quaking and she falls asleep in my arms.

Mom beats me to it. Not the whole whisking the girls away part, but the standing up to the dick wad part. She doesn't have her gun, and she's in a pretty fancy getup, but when she goes into cop mode, the intimidation factor shoots up three notches.

The man isn't moved by her aggressive stance. I think he's torn between surprise and amusement at a pretty lesbian gearing up for a fight in high heels. Mom won't fight him obviously, she knows the consequences, but she gets in a few good insults before Lena drags us away. I want to stay and fight. I'm the man of the family. I should be doing what Mom is. But Callie and Mariana are pushing me forward, and I could resist, but I don't want to. I want to get into the brightly lit building and find a table to slump over until the 'family fun' idea is all worn out.

We order shoes, only speaking the one syllable required to let the lady behind the counter know our sizes. Lena is twitching, and I can see her looking in the direction of the front door. Mom should be done yelling soon. She's too smart to get physical. But she's also furious in a way only I can really understand. We're related by blood. I know that very same tick in the jaw because I see it in the mirrors at school every time I duck into the school bathroom to avoid the sight of Wyatt sucking on Callie's face. Mom's blood runs in my veins and I know she's not angry at being insulted herself, but angry that that man shame her kids and harass Callie and Mariana and demean Lena.

The door swings open, and Mom strolls in with purpose. We know right off the bat she's put those guys in their place. Not even an ounce of force used.

Callie tries to slip away as the twins and Jude are trying on shoes and Mom and Lena are caught in a heated debate by the water fountains. She's headed to a utility closet, and creeps into it, barely opening the door more than a crack; that's how slender she is.

I meet her gaze and the door swings shut, and I can't be sure, but I'm pretty sure she means for me to join her in there.

_Splendid. _What now?


	23. Chapter 23

_**It's my birthday! Not very eventful: I found out I'm #6 in our grade, I ditched practice cause my hip is like decaying, I swear it hurts so bad, and I had Rita's (: I've been bingeing on The Vampire Diaries, but at like 6:25 I decided to give you all a chapter. In return, I would ask that you review, but I realize I've been greedy lately, and it's probably annoying. So I won't pressure anyone to review or follow or favorite. I'd just really really like it** ;* **This isn't the best chapter, especially for those who dislike Brallie. I'M SORRY, I just can't help myself. I'll do more family in a bit and less romance and more drama. I just HAD to. It's my birthday, c'mon.**_

_Callie_

The door shuts behind Brandon with hardly a whisper.

The closet has to be four by four feet, as we're nearly chest to chest in the cramped little space. With him tilting his head down to meet my eyes, and his hands fluttering by his sides as he debates whether or not to close the distance, I can't recall what we're doing here. He's so tall, close to six foot, and in avoiding his gaze, I'm forced to stare directly at his chest, heaving below the thin white t-shirt he has under his blazer. The knot in his tie is all wrong, and it takes everything I have not to reach up and fix it. Doing so would result in skin contact, and in my already heightened state of being from the cat-caller, it wouldn't end well.

Actually, for the moment, it would end more than well. I know what his lips feel like against mine, moving slowly and then faster, passionate and consuming. It's been over a month since that day in the middle of the street, and every time I see his naturally pink mouth and smooth, healthy skin, every time I see his blazing, burning eyes I feel the pressure of his weight against mine and the ghost of his toned arms enveloping me and rubbing away all the fear and hurt. When his eyelashes are brushing my cheeks, and his hands are knotted in my scalp, it's better then running. It's better than anything I've ever experienced, and it shouldn't be real. Things like that don't happen to me.

His voice snatches me back into reality, the musical undertones gone and he's scared and angry and helpless, no better than me. "Are you okay, Callie?"

Such a loaded question. Such a stupid question. "Yes."

I didn't think it was possible, but he moves closer to me, his breath hot on my brow. He smells like the little chocolate mints the servers gave us along with the check. Brandon and Jesus got them all, pulling some trump card from a previous night out or something. It sounded like a story from before Jude and I got here. Some inside joke we don't understand.

"Callie... that man... he's rotten. He's filth. He had no right to say any of those things." He's trying to console me for something I don't even care about. He's more sheltered than I thought if he's never heard those kind of things before. I've been called worse by complete strangers on the streets. Having a black eye and some bruisings make it all the more worst. I haven't been referred to as a 'skinny skank' before, and there's a cheap thrill to knowing that man thinks I'm skinny. Flattering, almost. No one else has seen fit to comment on my weight loss, other than Jude and Brandon.

Brandon's so earnest. The detached, suave man I've come to know in the past few weeks is gone. Right now, he doesn't look like he could handle a single hit or an ounce of beer. He's still got that sureness about himself though, that air of importance that doesn't come from conceit, but the genuine knowledge that he's got a good life and a good future ahead of him, no matter how he fucks up now, as a teenager. I don't think it ever truly goes away.

Brandon's searching my face desperately for any hint of emotion, stumbling over himself to right what's wrong. "He's stupid too. Doesn't even know what he's talking about. He called _me _gay and I think we both know that's not where my interest lies..."

His ill-humored joke trails off and I can feel the air between us starting to spark. We both know what he meant by the last part.

"It's not about that, Brandon." I reach out a palm to still his twitching fingers, the sight irritating me irrationally. There's an actual electric charge between us now, and I shock him. I can see the hairs standing up along his arm.

It takes him a little bit, but I see the realization find its way onto his features. He's surprisingly calm when he speaks. "That was Liam today. In the car. What did he say?"

I need him to know. "He's been watching, Brandon. He's got pictures and he won't leave, not yet. It's confusing, because he thinks I wanted the sex, but then he got angry when he thought I'd told people. He doesn't like you. He..." I've got to finish. "He saw the, um, the thing the other day when we, um..."

"When we kissed."

It's the first time either of us has acknowledged what happened. It's been there, between us, in every loaded stare and light touch. It's out in the open now, and neither of us speak as his words fade in the quiet. I have to give credit to whoever built this place. We can't hear a thing from the lively, noisy bowlers just inches away.

Something shifts in his eyes, and they fade back into a blazing blue-green almost as quickly as they darkened. "We'll go tell my mom. We should have told her and Lena from the start. There's got to be charges against stalking. He's got pictures. That's proof. And the one he sent you! I still have it somewhere. Callie, we can take him down. And then Jude will know you were raped. He'll know it wasn't your fault. I should have gone to them at the start. We'll tell them everything, including the eating stuff. You'll get help."

He sounds so... excited, almost. Like he's just figured everything out. Like he's a genius and I should be at his knees, thanking him for his input.

"You ignorant fuck." It comes out a little harsh but I'm fed up with him. With his ideas that life will work out in our favor. That things can just become normal and happy and easy with one little action.

The only action I know that could accomplish those things involves a gun. Pressed against my own skull and in my own hand. And it's not going to happen.

"What?" His lower lips sticks out a little and I want to kiss it softly as much as I want to slap him across the face for his idiocy.

"No. No. You do not get to say those things to me." I'm shaking my head to clear the jumble and he's so confused. "I'm not you. I don't live in this magical world where everything always works out."

He tries to speak, eyes wide and focused intently on the me as he struggles to retaliate. I don't give him a chance. "So stop pretending you have any clue as to what is going on here. You want to know what'll happen? You want to know, Brandon?"

"Yes." No, he doesn't. He wants to keep going with the pep talks and the forced feeding and the warm hugs that fool me into thinking I actually have a chance.

"You tell your mom. Charges are pressed. It goes into my file. We go to trial. It goes into my file. I say Liam raped me. He says he didn't. I say he did. He tells them about you. About you and me. It goes in my file. We lose the case. It goes in my file. Your moms give us up because of us, you and me, Brandon. Jude either believes the rape happened, and has to live with the fact that he's falsely accused me for years and injured me for nothing. Or he hates me more as we're torn away from your family. That goes in my file. I go to therapy for an eating disorder. _It goes in my fucking file, Brandon! _And I'm reduced to some screwed-up anorexic who fucks all her foster brothers and has to be sent to live in a group home. And Jude won't ever speak to me again, and neither will you. Because you'll move on with someone worthy."

I think I'm crying a little and my heart is coming undone at the seams, and I want him to wrap his arms around me and feed me the usual bull, but he doesn't move to comfort me. He stares at me as I finish, choking pathetically the lump in my throat.

"So, no. It won't help."

"Callie." He's the boy I helped the very first night he got drunk again. He's smiling down at me despite everything I've just said and his irises are swirling with secrets and promises, and I can't look away. He's so unconventionally gorgeous, it's wrong. The upper part of his jaw juts out a little too far and there are dark bags under his murky, almond-shaped eyes. His chin wrinkles when he curls his lips up, mottled little dimples appearing. "I think I love you." No hesitation.

There's no immediate reaction from me. The anger is still embedded in my bones and racing through my heart. I think I could scream, with the pain his words bring as they assault the barriers I've constructed so carefully around my heart. The look in his eyes, certain and confident, as he scans my face, slowing along the line of my lips, sets me off.

My palms smack against his chest and I want to pull back and keep hitting him until the emotion that's blazing in his stare fades. But his chest thunders beneath my fingers, and I can feel his heart beating nearly as quickly as mine. His breath is hitched, and the scent of him, the minty chocolate, the light aftershave, the musk of his skin, it's like a drug and I've never had high tolerance where that's concerned.

"Does it matter?" I have to say it.

"Yes. Because I won't let any of that happen. We don't have to tell anyone." There's an unspoken 'yet'. "I'll be here, Callie. Always."

It won't be always. I've got my wits about me enough to know that. But I'm high off of him, and I can't deny I want him to be there. I want him. And I'm not strong enough to be strong, if that makes any sense.

"Okay." There's no certainty as to what I'm agreeing to, just that we're too close for either of our own good, but neither of us can step back. Metaphorically and literally.

"We have to go back out. Jesus isn't feeling too patient these days. They've probably started already." He's right. The closet is getting stuffy, and we've been going at it for over ten minutes. Someone is surely suspicious by now. I start to edge around for the door, but he stops me with a murmur.

"Eat this." He pulls out a pack of the chocolate mints and places them in my clammy palms.

That reminds me. "Fucker." That stunt at dinner was not okay in the least bit. I'd forgotten up until now.

A chuckle is his only reply, although his eyes widen a tad at the language. It's cute.

"Eat up or I won't let you out."

"Fucker."

* * *

_Brandon_

"Where were you? We already picked teams. You're with me and Mom." Mariana's got one of the lightweight 8-pounders. Even Jude's got at least a ten pound ball. She's got an eyebrow raised suspiciously, but I can tell she doesn't really care. We get along well, me and Mariana. Except when she's being stupid, but there's no judgement between us. She knows about the drinking and partying on my part, and I know about the drinking and partying on her part. I worry about her, but there's not much I can do to restrain her. If Jesus can't do it, I have no chance.

"Had to use the bathroom. Tacos for lunch today." I have to borrow a page from Jesus's book. Mention anything related to body functions, and the girls are done snooping. Lena just gives me a chiding look. I don't think I've ever said something like that before, but it works, although I'm slightly embarrassed.

"I hear you." Jesus has my back.

"Me too."

"Mooooooom." There's a chorus of groans from Lena and Mariana. Callie and Jude just laugh, not fully comfortable with the bathroom talk. They've got to get used to it.

"My bad, guys." Mom fakes a horrified look, and goes to pick a black ball up. It looks heavy, from how she's holding it away from her body. She gets a strike with one easy twist of her wrist, and our team is officially in the lead. Mariana throws us off with only five pins knocked down, but I'm by far, the worst.

It's a gutter ball. Both times.

They're all laughing at me when I get back to my seat. Lena stands up for her turn.

"Brandon's got the worst hand-eye coordination in this entire room. You're lucky not to have him on your team." Jesus is stage-whispering to Jude and Callie. Mariana snorts, Mom pats my head, and Jesus sighs at a joke well executed. I catch Callie's eye and she's smiling softly at me. There's a tightness to her features, and I know she's in her head, agonizing about everything that's happened today. She might even be trying to calculate the amount of calories in those mints.

_Good luck with that. _

She's actually a really good bowler. It's hard to focus on her tactic, though. Her sweater has ridden up to above the top of her pants. I'm torn between shame at noticing the gentle curve of her calves and the tense muscle of her thighs, and sadness at the absence of flesh on her inner legs. She's got one of those buzzed about 'thigh gaps' and it's not right. She's not a skeleton, no, but her dimensions are wrong. She's made to be soft, slender, but rounded. She was perfect before and she's perfect now. But I can't help but think that she shouldn't look like this.

It might be wrong and judgmental and sexist, but she shouldn't be this skinny. It's not healthy.

Even when she's seated, both of her legs shake up and down like Jesus's, but in this case, I'm sure it's less of a habit than it is a compulsion. I've read it burns calories like crazy. I've read a lot on the subject, when I'm not high or drunk or hooking up.

* * *

The ride back home is peaceful. It's just me and the twins this time. Jesus insisted we listen to some new band he and Lexi 'discovered' one of their many afternoons spent in room 506. It's kind of artsy and folksy, and I don't mind it. Mariana doesn't have anything to say, and each of us dissects the rambling lyrics through half-open eyes and dazed brains. It's late and the music is putting me to sleep, and several times I have to pinch myself so we don't veer into the next lane. That would be very bad.

It's a shock when I get out of the driver's seat and Mom and Lena are standing by the porch waiting for me. Callie and Jude have already gone inside and Lena ushers Mariana and Jesus in as well, until it's just us three out there, standing in a rough circle by the top step.

"B, we want to talk to you for a sec before we go in." Mom's got her mom-voice all ready to go.

"Yes?"

"Brandon, honey, is there-" Lena pauses and collects herself. "What's going on with Callie?"

I panic. "I don't know what you're talking about." We were discreet exiting the closet back at the bowling place. We just talked, anyway. Where is this coming from? "What are you talking about?"

"We're talking about the fact that she's getting thin and been away from the house a lot. She walks like she's injured all the time." Mom is genuinely worried. I can see it in her eyes. It's a relief that they're not talking about whatever there is between Callie and I, but it's frightening that they notice her brokenness too. I'd begun to convince myself it was just my over sensitivity to anything concerning her.

Lena says, "Is it her boyfriend? He seemed like a nice guy, but she's been in a downward spiral since they've started dating."

Not true. To all of the above. I mean, maybe he's her boyfriend, maybe he's a nice guy-probably not-but Callie's problems don't stem from him, as much as I hate to admit it. Her downward spiral started long before she got here. I still haven't gotten the full story, not really. She'll tell me when the time is right. I can't push.

"It's not Wyatt. I think she's just having a hard time at school. I'll talk to her, if you want?" My voice is admirably even and disinterested. Oscar-worthy performance.

"Thanks, B. We just want to help. You're a good big brother." Hugs from both moms, and then they head inside, yawning widely. It's late, eleven maybe. We've got school tomorrow. _Dammit._

I take a few moments in the fresh air to collect myself, heading inside once my legs have grown stiff with fatigue and all I can think about is my bed. Even Callie comes second to the exhaustion threatening to drag me under.

I've got to look pretty comical, stumbling up the stairs like I'm hammered. I think I even go on all fours at one point.

Callie's just coming out of her bathroom when I reach the second floor. Everyone else has their door closed, lights out. It's just us in the hallway, faces darkened by the dim lighting. She stills her stride as I near her and the image of my mattress is pushed to the back of my mind. I don't know how to cope with the feeling that come with her round brown eyes and silky curtain of hair. I think I'd do just about anything she asked me to do at this point. I'm wrapped around her finger and it's terrifying.

"Good night, Brandon." She smiles just the tiniest bit, and cranes her neck to kiss my cheek, her soft lips dancing along my skin. My nerve endings are frayed and scorched by the sensation, and I lift my hand to the spot where her mouth has just been.

Then I'm on my bed, falling into the soft down, and my eyes close and I sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

**_Haven't updated it a while. I'll chalk it up to an active weekend, cross-country, and my unhealthy obsession with TVD. I'm so fixated on Elena and Damon, I've almost forgotten how much I love Brandon and Callie together. I don't know if I'll be able to continue with this story. I feel like you guys are getting bored of it (despite the very kind reviews- I LOVE YOU) and I'm doing it for the readers at this point. TELL me if you want me to keep going. Btw, I'll start using my reviewers' names in the following chapters, so... you know what to do._**

_Callie_

"... Brandon Foster and Callie Jacob to the athletic office."

The bell is about to ring for lunch when I hear my name on the announcements. This girl, Cat, and I are comparing answers to the latest history quiz. She's some kind of genius, no red marks on the paper at all, and in the past few weeks, it's become common that she lets me use her quiz to check the answers I've gotten wrong.

"You should get going. They rarely read those kind of announcements for the whole school to hear, so it's got to be something absolutely monumental." Cat smiles, laughing a little at her own wit, and snatches her quiz back with joking fervor. The bell chimes, and all around us, kids are scrambling to pack up and get into the hallway. Chelsea and Kate are setting up court in the back of the room. Our history teacher has a soft spot for their crowd, as most people do, and lets them congregate in his classroom during lunch period. I've seen Brandon in here more than once.

"I don't, uh, know where the athletic office is, though." This school is a maze; beautiful, but hard to get around. Cat hesitates and I think she's going to offer to show me. Before she can do so, Wyatt cuts in.

"Allow me to lead the way?" He threads his fingers through mine and pulls me towards the door along with the rest of our class. He's got the charm turned on full-wattage, holding the door open for me and smirking chivalrously at me.

"Bye Cat." I don't think she hears me, because we're out in the hall in a matter of seconds and heading away from my locker towards the gymnasium. Wyatt is quiet as we push through the masses of hungry teenagers. I see Mariana at one point, but she's talking on her phone and looks intense, so I shrug forward.

"Why were you and Brandon called to the athletic office?" Wyatt's trying to hide the curiosity, but he's pretty transparent.

"Your guess is as good as mine." I'm completely clueless. I run through scenarios in my mind, but nothing makes sense. Brandon and I only have two classes together. Neither of us do sports. We haven't gotten in any trouble lately, and even if we had, why would we being going to see the gym teachers and coaches about it? I've gotten in trouble at other schools enough times to know that we haven't done anything to warrant a lecture from the bulky Mr. Miller.

"Oh. Hey! So I haven't gotten to talk to you since yesterday afternoon. Did Louis get you home safe? I called but your phone went straight to voice mail." Wyatt counts the dollar bills in his wallet as we walk. There's fewer people down this hallway, and it's impossible to ignore what he's just said. He even stops counting and looks up at me for a reply.

"Yeah... yeah, he took me home." I won't refer to Liam as 'Louis'. I want no part in the web of lies that he's spun.

I'm right at the center of it, though. Maybe there's been other girls, other foster sisters-the thought makes me sick to my stomach. But even if there were others, I'm the one he's after. It's always been me. I fought back, I tried to expose him. And now, I'm trying to move on, lose the fear that comes with the sound of his name, and he won't let that happen. He thinks I loved him, that the sex was rough on his part because I wanted it. He thinks I've turned on him, and he feels betrayed. And jealous.

"Nice guy, isn't he? We hit it off the first day of work." I could hit Wyatt right now and feel absolutely no remorse.

"Really nice." He's stopped at a wooden door to the right of the gym's entrance. "This it?"

Wyatt nods cheerfully. "Yes, Ma'am. Want me to come with you?"

"Nah. I'll meet you in the parking lot." I say it quickly, wanting desperately to end the conversation and find out what the hell I'm doing here. He pivots on one heel and walks away, fingering his worn leather wallet as he goes. I find it a little weird that he didn't bother to say goodbye and furrow my brow and I turn away from his retreating backside.

The door is extremely heavy, to the point where I think it's locked. With a bit of grunting and heavy pushing, I tumble into the dark little office, feet slipping on the slick tile.

Brandon's already seated in a chair across from the massive desk to my left. He looks exhausted, bags under his shadowed blue eyes and slouching in the chair so severely his hips aren't even on the seat. His hair is it's usual rumpled, sexy mess and he's got a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. He's wearing a button-up shirt and light wash jeans that fit just close enough I can make out the line of his muscular legs through the fabric. He's chewing on a straw, and texting someone where the man in the tracksuit can't see.

"Are you okay?" Tracksuit looks to be in his forties, with a thin, wiry build and bald head. He's got the best posture of anyone in the room, and he shuffles papers on the desk as I work to right myself. Brandon twitches, and he starts to get up to help me, but I give him a look and he stays put.

"Fine." I make it over to the cushioned chair right beside Brandon and ease myself into the seat. I've got a raging blister right on my heel, and whenever I move to sit or stand, it starts to scream. "Why am I here?"

Overly blunt. Tracksuit doesn't look pleased, but he's not angry either. "My name is Mr. Ward. I teach math to the kids in middle school here. I have your brother, as a matter of fact." He pauses to look at Brandon. "I guess he's both of your guys' brother."

No. "Yes." My leg starts going, up and down. "Did Jude do something?"

"No, no, no. He's a great student. He's not really involved with why I'm talking to you. I'm also the track coach, and our season is just starting. The gym teachers tell me you are both skilled runners, and some faculty has seen you running outside of school. Jude says you both are pretty dedicated to the sport. I'm here to ask you to join our track team. It just formed last year, and we're low on participants."

Brandon seems as surprised as I feel. "Both of us?"

"Well, yeah. You kids could carpool, I suppose. We're in need of some talent on the team this year, and Mr. Miller assures me you're both among the best runners this school has to offer." Mr. Ward looks almost like he's pleading with us, begging us to concede and join. It's kind of pathetic, but flattering at the same time. I would have preferred that he spoke to me separately than Brandon, though. He's making it sound like we're of equal talent. I want to tell him that Brandon only runs because I do; that I've the one who has to work hard to get in shape; that it all comes easily to my foster brother.

I don't want to do this just so Brandon can show me up in the one area I've come to think I'm better than him in. He can have his music, and his popularity, and his flawless body, and his good looks, and his kindness, and his brain. I just want my running.

"You guys can think it over; get back to me in a bit. We'd love to have you though." Brandon shifts beside me as the coach finishes up. There's a streak of green paint on his forearm, from art class or something, and it's a brilliant contrast against his mildly tan skin. He's probably in the middle of creating some gorgeous painting they'll hang up in the auditorium.

"I'll do it." Brandon sounds bored, but he glances at me out of the corner of his eye, and in the brief moment we make eye contact, I can tell he's urging me not to do it. He doesn't like me running as much as I do. He'll hate it if I have the excuse of track practice to burn more calories. He can't shove enough food in me to make up for what this'll do.

I think he knows I won't really want to do it if he does it. It's not the idea of spending more time with him, of just us two in the car on the way home from practice, of him racing sweating and shirtless by my side, that turns me off. The images are frighteningly appealing. It's that he'll be better than me in just one more way.

"Yeah. I'll give it a go." His jaw unhinges a little at my words and I avoid his incredulous stare. I nod at the coach as he starts babbling, and reach out to accept the uniforms he's offering us, but inside I'm smiling. And the scary part is, I'm not as happy about the opportunity to lose more weight as I am the fact that I can't hide from Brandon anymore.

* * *

_Brandon_

Mr. Ward isn't fooling around. Callie and I are at our first practice of the season, and I think my lungs are collapsing in my chest. Ward is some kind of star runner, like the guy has done Iron Mans and marathons and triathlons. He's come into this expecting more than has ever been asked of me before.

Callie and I run where the ground is flat and smooth, paved. That's all we've ever done. Ward had me drive twenty minutes out of San Diego to some small mountain. He tells us to run along the 'red' trail to the two mile marker, then sprint repeatedly up and down the steepest hills I've ever seen. There's others here too, mostly freshman who don't know what they're getting into.

Callie's all decked out in new running sneakers and a tight tank top. Moms went crazy at the idea of us joining the track team. I told them Friday, the day Ward spoke to us, and over the weekend we were pulled along to nearly a dozen stores and malls.

It makes sense, when I think about it. Mom's always been really athletic and Lena got a scholarship to college through her tennis. Jesus hasn't ever had the patience to stick with a sport and Mariana was done with soccer by fifth grade. I've always had piano, and although my moms and Dad supported it, I can tell they wanted me to pursue something more, say, typical for a fit teenage guy. My dad especially. He's on board with the whole track thing. We even bonded a little over the selection of running socks. It hasn't happened in a while.

I'm halfway up my second repeat of the worst hill when I spot her. She ran ahead of me at the start, pumping her elbows with a look of complete concentration on her face. It worried me, but there's nothing to do but try to keep up at a distance far enough away that she doesn't feel threatened in her speed. We lost the freshman less than a quarter mile into it.

She's been eating better; Mom and Lena have been cracking down since last Thursday night. I want to quit the team, I want to spend my afternoons lazing around with my friends until the time comes when I can't avoid homework any longer. Callie needs me here, though. It's an unspoken bond between us, and it kills me that her face lights up when she sees me now. Because she hasn't mentioned my idiotic slip of the tongue Thursday, and I haven't mentioned that I'm being selfish and stupid, ruining her chance at happiness with Jude. We've kind of skated around the topic, and not much has been spoken between us, but the charged glances are coming more and more frequently and I don't know how much longer I can stand to pretend she's not in imminent danger and pretend I love her like a brother and pretend we're both fine.

"Callie?" I shouldn't stop running. Ward will have my head if he finds out. When I stop, when I allow myself to give in to the screaming inside my brain telling me to slow down, it's hard to start up again. Once you've had a taste of the relief that comes with a still body, and deep, labored breaths, it's agonizing to go back to the burning of every muscle and the short, unsatisfying gulps of oxygen.

She looks up at me with a guilty half-smile. "I had to stop. We've never done hills before. I flew up the first inclines, but there were more and more and I just... couldn't... keep going." She's gasping for breath, leaned clumsily against a tall oak tree, hands on her knees. There's hardly a drop of sweat on her. In this heat, it can only mean one thing.

"You're dehydrated. Have you had anything to drink today?" I fight back the chiding tone that results from the concern flooding my entire body. I can't be condescending. That'll just piss her off.

"Milk... for breakfast." She makes a disgusted face at the thought and I want to squeeze the thing that's making her wrinkle her nose. When she first got here, bruised and bloodied, I'd find her downing a huge glass late at night. I'd watch from the doorway, and get water from the bathroom rather than disturb her. It was her ritual that first week.

"Can you run back to the parking lot?"

She stumbles onto the trail at my question and tries to start. Her hips turn out in ways they shouldn't and her ankles look weak and rubbery as she fumbles over the bundle of roots and stones at our feet. I barely manage to catch her before her skull makes contact with a menacing boulder. In fact, I don't even really catch her. I manage to get my arms across her spine, in a ungraceful maneuver one wouldn't see in the movies.

"I'm carrying you back. Better exercise than running." She's not that heavy in my arms, all bones and tough, sinewy muscle. There's a bit of softness by her thighs, newly restored, and her stomach isn't concave. It's a small victory, but it means so much more than that.

"This is embarrassing." She rolls her eyes up at me and tries to get on her feet again. I let her.

"Let me help you walk back? There's still some pretty bad hills coming up." I don't know whether or not to snake my arm around her waist.

"Fine. But I don't want to run into Mr. Ward as we're walking. That'd be really bad. Let's take a shortcut." She grabs my hand, the only part of me not soaking wet with sweat, ironically. I can't feel the texture of her palm, my calluses numb to the skin's usual senses. Her ring finger and middle finger are crooked, bent in towards each other. It's a new detail, a fact of her I've just now discovered.

It doesn't make sense though, what she's saying. "How do you know the shortcuts here? We could just end up getting completely lost."

"I've been here plenty of times." She winces at my confused gaze. "When we lived with R-" She cuts herself off. "My old foster father, I used to take the bus here for hikes. Jude came too and wandered around the lodge." Callie squints against the setting sun, pointing back the way I've just come. "I think it's that way."

"Lead the way then."

She doesn't speak as we turn back and follow the trail downhill, slowly. I'm itching to ask about Ron-it has to be him she was talking about-but I know she's steeling herself to tell the story, just by the set of her shoulders. It's a relief when she finally starts to talk.

"Ron's wife died a year before we got to his house. She's the one who had wanted to foster kids. She was killed by a teenage boy in the city, going to work one day. He said I reminded him of her, his wife. He told me that she never complained when he hit her with the belt, and I shouldn't either. He told me Jude was next if I didn't let him. I didn't fight back, not at first, and the beatings became less frequent. But I got cocky, and I thought he was getting soft, and I rebelled and it started again. It hurt so bad, Brandon. The metal cut my flesh and the cuts became a game to him. It was like tic-tac-toe, he said. Or creating artwork. With his belt. Or cigarettes. He didn't hurt Jude, just me. And Jude watched a lot of the time. And he cried. But neither of us ever told. And the few friends that I did have, they always told me how nice Ron was, how kind, and he reminded them of their grandfathers. The littlest things would set him off. I left my calculator at school one day, and had to borrow his, and I paid for that. Jude did all the chores, and I cowered in my room until dinner time came and there was no more escaping him. Because, back then, I was a slave to my hunger cues. I was beaten mercilessly night and night again, because I couldn't imagine going one night without dinner. I was so stupid, Brandon."

She plows on through the forest, and soon enough, we're nearing the parking lot. I can hear mothers screaming at crying toddlers and teenagers groaning at the physical activity that comes with family hikes. I have to reach out and physically pull Callie to a stop.

"We got lost, okay? If Ward asks." She avoids my gaze, adopting a crisp, businesslike tone. All the emotion is drained from her face.

"Don't do that, Callie. Don't pretend. Not to me." I sound like a prick to my own ears.

Her guard seems to fall a little. "I trust you, Brandon. I told you because I trust you. With my life, maybe. But can we finish the 'heart-to-heart' later? I've got to run these last few meters, even if it kills me. I'm not letting you beat me."

She takes off running, me close by her heels. I could pass her if I wanted to, but I let her finish first, huffing for air and clutching her sides. She's so unearthly, the sinking orange sun giving her a halo and her skin glowing with that glistening shine one can only claim when extreme amounts of energy have been expended. Her shoulders are hunched, and her hips stick out awkwardly, but I've never seen anyone like her.

The sight of her steals my breath away more effectively than the steepest hill.


	25. Chapter 25

**_Hello (insert endearing term here). Haven't updated since Monday. The reviews were heartwarming, especially those from people I've never heard from before. Don't get me wrong, the readers who comment on almost every chapter are the best human beings in the world (: I just love it when someone new decides to join their ranks. You guys have motivated me to keep going, and feel free to keep the kindness coming. I should make a reaction video of myself reading your reviews to prove that I legitimately smile and tear up. *end of obnoxious 'thanks'* Thinking about throwing in Mariana POV or Jesus POV but idk if that would disrupt the flow for you guys? Thoughts? Enjoy the chapter;_** **_it's my favorite so far, I think. _**

_Callie_

Wyatt is more excited than I am about the party tonight.

"Wait, so it's for Lexi?"

"Yeah." I'm trying to organize the pile of papers and other crap in my locker. It's gotten so bad in here, I pretend to forget my books at home for most classes rather than try and wrestle them out from under the avalanche of junk. When I have homework, Brandon just lets me borrow his textbooks. It works out just fine, as my teachers already have low expectations for me, and Brandon is willing to work with me in his room or mine. Usually his.

"So they're letting her out of the hospital for this? I didn't think it worked like that?" He's clearly confused, and for a good reason. Lexi's recovery has been a secret of sorts for the past few weeks. She wanted to be sure she'd live before getting her friends hopes up, I guess.

"No. She's being discharged. The 'miracle drug' worked." I pause with my arm buried up to the elbow in crumpled sheets. "You can't tell anyone. Lena and Stef organized it with the Rivera's as a surprise for Lexi. And some of our classmates are invited, but they don't know what the occasion is."

"Sounds like fun." He nuzzles closer to me, blocking my view of what still needs to be done. "I'm so happy you trust me."

"Don't make me regret it." I'm joking, and he knows it, but there is an undercurrent of annoyance in my tone. "Track starts in ten minutes. I wanna get this done today. You're _distracting_ me."

He stands and runs to the end of the empty hallway and back. "I should be on track!"

"You don't participate in school activities, remember?" Just a tiny bit of sarcasm. "Besides, it's a pain in the butt. Half the underclassmen have quit already. Ward's not an easy coach."

Wyatt almost knocks over the trash bin I've got by my side. He laughs, tossing his mane over one shoulder. I can't even do that with my hair. "Ward's a beast. I had him in seventh grade. He hated me."

"Name one teacher who doesn't." It's bitchy, but I'm not looking forward to the time trials today, and Brandon, my only friend on the team, is helping set up the house for tonight's party. I think I just touched some chewed gum on the hallway floor, and Wyatt's grating on my nerves. "Sorry. That sounded bad."

He gives me the puppy dog look, staring up at me from under his eyelashes. It doesn't even make sense how he does it, seeing as he's standing over me. He's fingering his knuckles slowly, and lets a lock of hair dangle over his face. "Ouch."

"No, Wyatt, I'm sorry! It's just a bad mood. It'll pass." He's still standing there, making no move to walk away, and there's still hope. Mariana told me a while ago that I'm 'using him'. I told her no, that he meant something, that I liked him. And it's true. For all of his drawbacks and annoyances, Wyatt's a genuinely good guy. He cares about me, in his own way, and he's been there since the beginning. He hasn't tried for sex once since the night I ran away from him and Lexi told us about her cancer. He thinks Liam is a friend and has no clue of the situations he's put me in with my rapist. Wyatt's home life isn't awful, but it's pretty shitty, and he does the best he can. He's so much more than I deserve.

I think he realizes that too. "No, Callie, it won't pass. We've been dating for months and I keep telling myself you'd develop feelings, but you haven't and I know you think of me as a friend. Nothing more. You even dislike me at times, I think. I'm no honors student, but I'm smart enough to know there's a lot you're not telling me and will never feel comfortable telling me. And, Brandon-"

"Stop. Wyatt." I'm frozen, bent into my locker, craning my neck to see his oddly calm features. "Don't."

"Fine. Whatever, Callie. I'll give you one last chance to come clean, and I won't break up with you. Tell me you want to be with me, and tell me what you're holding back, and I won't dump you right here and now."

Too far. Too fucking far. The self-righteousness and pride rears up in me. My warm feelings are evaporating in the split second that his mouth stops moving. "You're an asshole."

"And you screwed me over."

* * *

By the time I get home, Mariana has already laid out an outfit for me. I passed her on the stairs. She was hurrying downstairs to do something. Probably improve on the decorations, or food arrangement, or banners. This is what she thrives off of; the attention to details that'll turn this party from cheesy and low-budget to fitting for the homecoming of a girl who'd thought she'd never come home. She looks gorgeous, in a flowery A-line dress that stops at the knee and accents her pink nails and shimmering silver eyeliner. Her hair is in soft curls around her shoulders. When I asked who did it in a rushed breath, she surprised me by saying her brother's name. And it wasn't Jesus.

Time trials were okay. I actually ended up being grateful Brandon wasn't there, seeing as by the end of it, I was soaked in sweat in a completely unappealing way. The freshman, Chris, who's been eyeing me since the very first practice, didn't glance at me once, I smelled so bad. I ran the best time of anyone, but it's not the least bit satisfying. If Brandon had come, I wouldn't have been fastest.

My hair looks like I just took a shower. It hangs in sweaty ringlets around my cheeks, brushing the nastiness into my skin follicles like a goddamn paintbrush. My hipbones feel like they are grinding against my pelvis, the cartilage having eroded somewhere along the seven mile marker. Ward had the horrible idea to time each of our miles as they progressed, with the instructions to stay at the same pace the entire time. He wanted to see how we slowed down while trying to keep up the steady pace. It's barbaric. The whole time, I was debating whether to leave the team, or stay and push myself further than I could ever do on my own. It's a hard choice to make.

"Callie! Hey," It's Lena, bearing a tall vase of flowers that look like daisies, but fancier. "Where's Wyatt? I thought he was going to give you a ride and stay for the party?"

Wyatt is an unwelcome topic to breach. My face turns redder than it already was, if possible. "We broke up. I got a ride with one of my teammates' mom."

Her face falls just the slightest bit. I know she likes him, and his dish drying technique. "I'm so sorry, honey. Do you still feel like joining the party?"

It's not even a question, really. She knows what I'm going to say. "Of course. Jesus would _kill_ me if I didn't show. I'm just going to take a shower and throw on whatever Mariana has chosen for the occasion."

Lena smiles sadly and mimes a chuckle. No actual sound comes out. "Sounds good, then. I'm here if you need to talk. Anytime." I start to edge up the stairs again, careful to put my weight on the railing rather than my sore hips. She calls out to me before I get to the second floor and out of her watchful gaze. "I made pasta, an old family recipe. You'll eat it, right?" The query is loaded; carefully worded. She's bending to peer up the stairs and make contact with my guarded gaze.

"I'd love to try it." That leaves enough room for evasion. I can always take a single bite. That qualifies as 'trying'.

"See you in a bit." I let her concerned tone fade behind me as I reach the second floor, and head for my room.

I need a towel. I need to shower. I need to apply makeup and paint on a smile with Mariana's 'forbidden lust' lipstick. My needs are interrupted at the sound of a girl's voice from a room down the hall. Brandon's room.

"Aiden said you needed a date. Your moms let me in. I have weed. What's the problem?" She's got a nice voice, mellow and kind of deep, but still clearly female.

"I'm not in the mood to get high, Leah. My brother's girlfriend is coming home from her deathbed. Doesn't that warrant me to be sober?" Brandon doesn't sound angry. He sounds tired, which is normal, and uptight, which isn't.

"Whatever you say, B. Let's just have a good time. I've missed Lexi. Can we go help out downstairs?"

"Yeah, 'course. But I can't be your date for the night. Aiden didn't consult me on the matter."

"Why not?"

"I... I just can't. But Daryl might drop by, if you're interested."

The girl, Leah, laughs. "Daryl, my ass. I just came cause Aiden said to. You know I've got a thing for him, right?"

I can hear Brandon smiling in his reply. "I'll put in a good word. Do me a favor and ditch the marijuana, though. Tonight's not a good night."

"You're my new best friend. The weed will stay in my bag for the night, at your request. Are you going back to your old ways, B? You've been such fun these past few months. More fun than stuffy old _Brandon_." They both laugh and the floorboards creak as both pairs of feet move for the door.

I realize what I look like as they draw closer. I'm disgusting from practice, my face is flushed from the eavesdropping and peek into Brandon's social life. He's easy to judge based on how he acts around me, but what matters most is how he acts around those who aren't me. And I'm struck with a twisted admiration of his friendship with Leah, and his refusal to do drugs on the night of Lexi's return, and his easy laugh. They're little things, not noble or extreme by any means, but I'm blown away by the dimensions and layers to him I've never seen before. He's always so tender and quietly amusing and clear around me.

The bathroom is closest to me, and I scramble inside the room, cursing myself silently for being such a nosy, jealous bitch. In movies and tv shows, it's normal for a character to listen in on someone else's conversations. But this is life, this is real life, and I'm ashamed.

I listen as they pass me by in the hallway, debating whether or not Jesus is going to cry during the little speech he has planned. Brandon thinks no, he won't, he'll be stoic and manly. Leah disagrees. I stand my the mirror, letting their easy banter fade away and wonder why I never seem to have those kind of conversations with my foster brother. We're both clearly capable; but it's always my past, or my eating, or Liam that comes up. And that's not how it's supposed to work.

I peel off the t-shirt I've got on, and ease the sports bra over my head. It's an extra-small, and fits tightly around my breasts, but the elastic at the bottom is loose around my ribs. It results in an unpleasant running experience. My shorts are soaked with sweat, as are my underwear. I'm scared I left Chris's mom's car seat damp. No more carpools there.

The hot water doesn't feel nearly as good as it should. Instead the steam assaults my already aching lungs and I have to turn the dial to tepid water. The oxygen comes more freely now, but the lukewarm stream does nothing to sooth my cramping muscles.

I notice the dilemma as soon as I step out of the shower. I have no towel. Brandon's towel is the only one one the hooks, and that's no more an option than putting on my damp, smelly clothes. I'm stuck.

There's nothing to do but wait for Mariana or one of the moms to run upstairs. Maybe they'll put the guests' coats in one of the bedrooms or something. But that reasoning makes no sense, as I know, better than anyone, how hot it is today, even with the sun on a decline in the sky. I brush my hair for five minutes straight, naked, before there's the sound of feet thundering up the stairs. It's not Mariana, not by the heavy gait. She walks daintily, in a manner I've never been able to capture.

I ease the door open, contorting my body behind it's shield and stick my head out the crack. I'm not all that flexible at the moment, and a bare shoulder and arm are visible to the person in the hall. And it's Brandon.

"You're just popping up everywhere today." It comes out of my mouth before the situation fully presents itself to me. I'm completely naked, hidden from him by just a thin wooden door, and he's standing in the hallway, looking uncommonly put together. His hair is slicked back properly, and he's got another blazer on tonight, along with a blue tie that highlights the green in his eyes tonight. His pants are a little big on him and the waist is down around his hips, slung low on his torso. He stares at the portion of me visible to him with wide eyes, the green ebbing slowly from the color of the ocean when it's clear enough to see the seaweed beneath the water to a murkier, darker shade. His mouth is open and his forehead bunched where he's trying to decipher my idiotic outburst.

"...What?"

"Nothing." He reaches up to tighten the tie around his neck, his biceps expanding with the stretch, and I have to wrack my brain for the reason I'm staring at him from behind the bathroom door. I should just shut it and take a second shower to cleanse myself of the inappropriate interaction. This is _so_ not what social workers are talking about when they tell me to 'bond with your foster siblings'.

"Is there a reason you're standing there unclothed?" He flushes deeply, fixing his gaze on the floor, and shifting his weight from foot to foot. He's more embarrassed than I am, yet he's stationary as well.

"Yeah. Actually. I need a towel. There's only yours in here, and I don't have clothes to change into." I've relaxed too much against the door, and my entire right collarbone has to be visible to him. When his eyes flick upward, I can see him taking in the bone straining the skin my shoulder. There's that one little peak I love to trace with my fingers, since the fat is absent here, and I can feel the texture of the bone beneath my fingers. He's noticing that little bump and he's looking down again, and I'm suddenly disconcerted with the one part of my body I've actually come to love.

"You could have just used mine." He sounds different than before, when I heard him talking to Leah. He's stiffer, less comfortable. My silence at his suggestion strikes a cord and he starts moving towards the linens closet. He selects a white towel at random, and comes back quickly, studying the fabric in his hands intensely. "Here."

He holds it out to far away for me to grab it and still cover what needs to be covered. He doesn't notice.

"Brandon?"

"Mmm?"

"I can't reach."

He grins and there's a sparkle in his eye, the kind I imagine he had when he was talking to Leah. He doesn't move.

"Brandon?"

"Mmm?"

"Give me the towel." I can't stop the laugh bubbling up in my chest at his innocent expression. It's the face Jude wore when we'd bake cookies, and I'd tell him not to eat the raw batter, but I'd find him with sticky fingers and a moist mouth seconds later. But on Brandon, the expression is more than adorable. It's exciting and gorgeous and I'm shocked by the urge to jump on top of him and kiss the smirk away. Because I'm naked. And we can't kiss. And a thousand other reasons.

"On one condition." He's both serious and teasing, batting his eyes fake-flirtatiously and clenching his fists around the towel with a roughness and strength I've never seen before on him.

"What?"

"You have to answer a question." He bores holes into me with his lingering stare.

"One question." I affirm.

"Is it just me?" He tears his gaze from me, playing with the fuzz embedded in the fabric intently. "Am I the only one who feels it?"

He must think I won't answer, because I'm still replaying his words in my mind when the towel is placed in my hands, gently, and with no contact between us. He tightens his tie once more, straining the knot and ruining his shirt's collar, before folding his arms across his chest, then unfolding them, and pivoting on a heel to face the staircase. We can both hear the party starting, the doorbell ringing, and Lena and Stef's cries of welcome. He straightens his back, runs a hand through his dark locks, and rubs his knuckles in his eyes.

He's at the first step when I whisper it. I don't know if he can hear from there, but he pauses and his neck pulses like he's going to turn back. He doesn't though, and I'm left with the word bitter on my tongue.

"No."

* * *

I'll admit it. I will.

Mariana has amazing taste in clothes.

I found the dress on my bed, topped by a smiley face of two silver flats and a long beaded necklace. The dress stops around mid thigh. It's lacy and white, the complete opposite of what I'd normally choose to wear. It works perfectly, however. The white makes my dark hair look black and shiny in contrast, and the beads compliment the pale skin of my throat, and cover the worst bump of my spine, the one right by the base of my neck and stands out noticeably. The bodice of the dress is a V-neck that's modest enough to be classy, but shows just the slightest inner curve of my chest. The dress is gathered lightly around my ribcage, at the thinnest point, and hides my jutting hipbones with the flowing nature of it. I look amazing, from the neck down. Better than ever before, maybe.

My face is another matter. I bloat after long runs, God knows why. My face is rounder than it's been in a while, and my lips are plumper than they've been. It's not unattractive, more so different. I allow myself a little concealer and foundation, but ignore the mascara and lipstick that's been laid out for me along with other beauty products. I'll poke my eyes out if I try right now, shaking as I am from the brief encounter with Brandon just ten minutes before.

Nearly everyone has arrived when I get downstairs. Mariana's with some of her old friends, the ones she and Lexi had in common, by the snack table. Jesus seems to be directing the guests to sign a 'Welcome Home' t-shirt for his girlfriend. He's so happy, he practically glows. There are some other freshmen, girls mostly, coming up to him, and the girls are flirting so obviously I want to smack them. Not for Lexi's sake, she'd know they're no competition, but to put some sense into their tiny little brains. I want them to pull their heads out of their asses and realize they're making fools of themselves. It's kind of frightening to think that if my parents never got in that car crash, if I never went into the foster system and never met Liam and Ron and all the rest, I'd be just like those girls over there. Shallow and fixated on a boy I'd never get.

It's an awful thought, kind of like I'm glad Mom died, but the fissure in my chest that aches every time I see someone or something that reminds me of her, confirms the fact that I'm not in the least bit happy she's gone. Nothing bad would have happened if she were still alive.

"Hey cutie. You look gorgeous, hon." An arm snakes around my shoulder and the first instinct is to get it off. I jerk my chin up and almost take Stef's eye out. "Easy there. You don't like compliments?"

"Not really." It's the easiest reply.

"YOU'RE SO GORGEOUS! AND BEAUTIFUL! AND PRETTY! AND SWEET!" I wrestle away from Stef, laughing, and ignoring the funny looks we get from the girls flocking around Jesus and two other friends of his that have just arrived. Stef tries to ruffle my hair affectionately, but I hold up a finger.

"Not the hair. It's my first good hair day in a while." I duck from under her grip as she laughs.

"Good point. That must be preserved. I'm going to go find Lena and tell her to ready the camera. You go try some of the vegetable dip. I worked hard on that."

"It's store-bought, isn't it?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

She winks at me. "Don't tell anyone." Her face contorts just a little. "Eat up."

I watch her walk away. Once she's no longer in the kitchen, I move over to where Jesus is standing. "When's Lexi getting here?"

He glances up at me, and his easygoing expression is absent. There's a darkness in his eyes I'd begun to think only showed on the elder Foster brother. "She won't reply to my texts. Neither will her parents. I don't know when she'll be here."

To distract him from the worry consuming his one-track mind, I point to the t-shirt on the counter beside him. "May I?"

He looks past me, at the gaggle of girls I'd shouldered past. "They've been waiting to go... but yeah, you go."

I print my name as neatly as possible with a little heart over the 'i' in Callie. It's a first for me, the girly trademark I suspect someone like Talya or Ariana has mastered. Jesus watches, ignoring the two guys arguing at his side over 'World of Warcraft'. It seems like a conversation he'd normally jump right into animatedly, but today his gaze follows the marker in my hand. "Thanks, Callie. She really likes you, you know. Lexi used to run track in middle school. Maybe she'll join the team when she comes back to school."

"Sounds good." Brandon appears at my shoulder. He steals the marker from my grip and proceeds to sign his name in a graceful calligraphy that flows from his fingers. It's like porn, watching his wrist twist as he directs the felt tip across the thin fabric. He could be signing autographs for fans of his music, he has such ease and confidence about him. It's like earlier never happened.

I can't forget that it happened, and as he takes my hand and pulls me into the living room to stand with Leah, I know my heart is speeding up to dangerous levels. Even after his fingers slip away, I can still feel the imprint of his palm against mine.

"Hi. It's Callie, right?" Leah's a model. She has to be. She's got kinky dark blond hair pulled up in a tight bun. Her skin is as clear as Brandon's and her nose protrudes further than normal. It only adds to her beauty though, cause she's not typical. She's got the body of a ballerina and a runner at the same time, and her eyebrows are arched perfectly. She's got a fragile kind of awkwardness about her, but it's only more appealing. She doesn't look like a girl who smokes pot. She looks like a exotic foreign exchange student minus the accent and different skin tone.

"Yup. Callie." I sound ridiculous.

"Aren't you dating Wyatt? My brother is friends with him." She smiles at me, then Brandon, pleased at having made a connection to me other than what she's heard around the school.

"No. We, um, actually just broke up. Today." I give a weak laugh of sorts and Brandon's gaze burns into me. I can tell from my peripheral vision that he's staring, wide-eyed. Shocked.

"I'm sorry! Brandon just broke up with Ariana recently too. It's kind of funny how that worked out. Must be a sibling thing." Leah's sympathetic gaze is the last thing on my mind. I'm holding myself back from looking at him with superhuman strength.

"Leeeeeah. That's not public knowledge." Brandon bumps her shoulder with his, and they laugh together.

"She's your sister, dumbnuts." Leah drifts backwards a few feet to snatch some unopened rootbeers from the window sill.

_Sister. _"Whatever." Brandon won't meet my eyes now.

"Here, Callie, take this. I hear you're letting Ward torture you. Dumb thing to do if you ask me." She shoves a bottle at me. "I'm going to see your parents made anything that isn't low-fat. I swear..." Leah drifts off, complaining about the health factor of our food. I eye the nutrition content on the bottle, even though I have no reason to. I've got pretty much every food down pat.

"Drink." Brandon shifts to where he's right in front of me. There are a dozen other people in this room, carrying on separate conversations, but he's the only person I can focus on right now.

There's nothing to do but do what he says. He'll get the moms involved if he has to, and that'll be even worse. With Brandon, I can manipulate. I can trick him. I can convince him. He's dense, naturally, to the whole thing, being a guy. And most guys don't understand the urge to restrict and be skinny. They want to bulk up. They want more weight. They can't grasp the idea of starving oneself in an effort to look perfect.

Stef and Lena are a different story.

Brandon lowers his voice to a whisper when I've almost completely finished the drink. "Can we talk somewhere?"

It's too tempting. "Leah?"

"She's looking for Aiden. She won't be back in a while." He's headed for the stairs, gesturing back at me to follow. There's a split second where I think I'll be able to turn away and find Cat or someone else, someone to distract me from him.

But I'm caught in his web, and I have to follow him up the stairs, one by one, until the curious eyes of friends and family are no longer visible and it's just us and the silence thick between us. He leads me to his room, and stands at the door, asking me silently if I'll come in. I shake my head no, and head for my room, across the hall. He follows me, light on his feet.

The door swings closed behind him and I have to take a beat to remind myself the boy behind me isn't Liam. He won't hurt me. He loves me. He said so. He has to.

"Is it really over with Wyatt?" He lowers himself gingerly onto Mariana's bed as I fall back onto mine.

"Is it really over with Ariana?" I have to ask.

"Yes." He doesn't say it. He breathes it. "Callie?"

"Yes?"

"Why are we pretending?"

I have to look up at his face now. It's this primal instinct in me, calling to scan his features, find the deceit, or the bad, or the evil. There's nothing but his green-blue eyes and his tight lips holding back what we both want to say.

"You know why." I can't deny what he's asking. I can't look at him and tell him I'm not pretending that I don't love him with every ounce of my body. I almost wish I weighed more, so I could love him with even more ounces. As it is now, I'm bursting full with it, and it hurts me on a daily basis, when I have to look at him and think that he'll never be mine.

"I do. But I can't, Callie. I can't pretend." He snorts softly. "I've always been awful in the school plays." His eyes are swimming with emotions, some that I know, and some I've never seen before and it frightens me.

"I'm scared." I really am. Not of him. Of his control over me. Over the power he wields in those strong, sinewy hands and bottomless shining eyes. I'd do anything he asked, short of killing a man. Maybe even that, if he pulled me close and whispered it against my neck and let his palms meet the exposed skin of my back and slipped his hands under the fabric of this flimsy white dress.

"Me too. I don't know what to do. And I _always _know what to do." His breathing hitches a little at the last bit. I can see how much he hurts to be so clueless and torn. It's been eating away at him these past months. It's been the motivation behind every drag of a joint and every mouthful of liquor. This thing, what we have, it's aged him. I don't think either of us are anything like what we were last fall.

"What you said... at the bowling alley..." I squeeze my lids shut. I'm so powerless to the feelings tumbling through my body. "Me too."

He doesn't need clarification. We both know what I mean. It's undeniable. It's the elephant in the room that's trotted along behind us for far too long, and now I've let that elephant free, and it's amazing to know I've saved that elephant a life of misery and entrapment, but it's frightening to think that elephant can't protect me any longer. It's all on me now.

Brandon moves across the room so gracefully and swiftly, he's a blur. He kneels before the bed, turning his face up towards me and I take a moment to memorize the joy flitting through his eyes and the curve of his soft pink lips as he gazes up at me.

And then I'm on him and we're rolling across the floor, our lips crashing together in a frantic battle for domination and his breathing is ragged and I've got my hands in fists, clutching to his shirt and pulling him closer, as close as I can get him, until our bodies are able to meld together and never separate. He's got me pinned down and his stomach is hard against my ribs, and his thighs are pressing into mine and it's a dance. His arms are bulging with fortitude as he holds himself over me and ducks his head down to meet my mouth, needy and demanding more. His moans are soft and sweet, exhales that vibrate through my body and set off goosebumps along my arms. He's warm to the touch, and I smell him all around me, and I can't stop to think how wrong this is. He's set every nerve in my body off and I think I'll have to scream from pure pleasure. I nip his lip with my teeth and he growls, slow and deep, against me.

I don't know how I manage to get his shirt and tie off, but in a matter of seconds, I can feel his toned, firm chest under my nails and dig my fingers into his abs, the muscle hardly giving, as he moves his chin to kiss my neck, his lips somehow soft and ravenous against my throat. His hair brushes my cheek and I inhale the coconut shampoo he's been faithful too for as long as I've known him. My tongue catches his earlobe, and he moans again, the sound weakening my knees. The pressure of his body against mine has alleviated any pain from practice, and I'm full of adrenaline and energy.

A strap of my dress falls off of my shoulder. I want so badly to tear the thing off and let our skin join truly. Mariana would kill me if I ruined it. It's hard to do anything at all, the need to meet Brandon's mouth with mine so consuming, it's like being drunk for the very first time. I have to concentrate on the action of tugging the other strap down off my left shoulder. Brandon notices the movement, and pulls back, his eyes dark and his cheeks flushed in two little red circles. He grinds his hips against mine a little as he sits up and I gasp at the sensation. It's not right. I shouldn't feel this good. It shouldn't be this good.

Brandon lifts a hand from it's perch beneath my head. I struggle for oxygen, lightheaded with pure lust and love alike, as he traces my collarbones with his pinkie finger. It's like a feather tickling my overheated skin. His other hand comes up, and he places one hand on each strap, eyes locked on mine, pupils dilated to the point where there's an orb of black and a ring of dark, cloudy blue surrounding it. The thought comes again. _Mariana won't be happy if this dress is torn._ He doesn't rip it from my form, though. Carefully, as if handling something incredibly fragile, he eases the fabric up over my shoulders and back into their rightful places. Disappointment rips through my gut, but he satisfies the haze of lust with a gentle kiss.

I'm starting to deepen it again, when his back pocket buzzes, and he pulls off of me with a groan to match mine. But his expression changes when the screen lights up.

"We have to go. Downstairs. Now." He pulls me to my feet, straightening my dress and smoothing back my hair. He does the same to himself, until we're both presentable. I'm too numb to do anything but follow him out the door silently. I'm replaying what just happened in my mind and there's no one emotion that comes front and center above the rest. It's just a mess of confusion and happiness and more fear. "Something is wrong."

He has to let go of my hand at the stairs. The party has thinned out, and it's easy to push our way through to get to the porch. Outside, the moms, Mariana, Jude, and Jesus are waiting. It's a horrible scene to walk into. Jesus is sobbing, noiselessly, but sobbing all the same. Mariana and Jude look dumbstruck and Stef and Lena are holding each other. I want so badly to grab onto Brandon and let him anchor me as they tell us whatever it is that is going on. I need him by my side right now.

He's over a foot away. Other than one concerned glance in my direction, his attention is obviously elsewhere. "What happened?"

Jesus looks up, his eyes bloodshot and teeming with heavy tears. "Lexi's gone."

I can't hold it back. "She _died_?"

"Her family was deported."


	26. Chapter 26

**_I'm so busy, guys! Sorry for the waiting game, but I will promise at least two chapters a week. As ALWAYS (It's tedious, I know), please review and help motivate me to keep going. If you don't have an account on here, and want to know when I've updated, follow me on tumblr or twitter and I'll post when I'm done. The info is in a past chapter's Author's Note, so the hundreds of silent lurkers (ily) can know exactly when I've finished. Last chapter was a big one, so I'm gonna stick to 3k or 4k words for now._**

_Brandon_

So Lexi is gone for good.

Mom called the station when the Rivera's never showed up. Some secretary leaked the news. Lexi's discharge papers were what gave them away. The insurance company looked too closely, and everything they'd been through and survived was shot to dust. The police considered showing the family over the border a 'favor', as the insurance was calling for blood, raging at the thousands and thousands of dollars spent on illegal immigrants. There were no goodbyes to be said, and the bank has taken back their house, their belongings, everything.

This system of justice; it's fucking twisted.

The thing that gets me, the thing that's pierced the stoic heart I've tried to build against the shit going on around me, is Jesus. He'd hardened himself to the thought of losing his girlfriend. He was ready, near the end, to let her go. He knew he could move on, and he knew her illness wasn't going to hold him back in life. When the news came that she'd live, that she'd come home, I don't think he knew how to react. There was the joy, obviously, and the disbelief. But also, an unsettling confusion with what happened now. He was almost ready to hold her hand as she died, and then get up and move on with school and volleyball and dating. He opened himself up to her again, to the idea of them together, and when the reunion came, she never showed. And he's got to let go all over again.

He knows this isn't a romance film we're living in. There's no way she'll be able to come back, and no chance he'll leave the country in a desperate, foolhardy attempt to get her. They're not in love. They love each other, yes, but not enough to defy the law and risk their futures. That shit only happens in the kind of books Mariana reads and the movies Lena fawns over.

Callie says I'm 'pessimistic'. She says to apply to situation to two people who aren't fickle fifteen-year-olds. She says, 'What about your moms? Stef would go anywhere for Lena'. And she's right, for the most part. But what my mothers share, what they have, it's rare. And there's a chance it won't last. Relationships are like that. You love someone, and you tell each other 'forever' and you can't picture you're life without them. And then a time comes when you can. My father thought my mom what his forever. And now she's with another woman, and he's drowning in liquor.

* * *

"Heard back from any colleges?" Dad's at the steering wheel, and for once I'm not worried that the car is going to swerve into oncoming traffic. He's fresh off duty, still in his smelly blue uniform, and we're headed to the nearest deli for a mid-afternoon snack. There's six-thirty track practice tonight, following a four o'clock piano lesson, and this one hour after school is my only down time for the day. Consequently, Dad decided to bond during the exact time slot.

"I just barely finished sending out the applications. I'm pretty sure it takes at least six months to get a reply, Dad." I have to throw in an exasperated sigh. It's almost mandatory.

"Tell me again why you didn't apply to Princeton or Julliard?" There Dad goes, trying to live through me. He's never been happy with the fact that he went to community college. He calls it 'his biggest mistake'. His drunken rants tend to include the admission that he could have been a doctor or a lawyer or businessman if he had the opportunities I do. He likes to talk about how much easier I've had it than he did, having had foreign parents and a lower class ranking. It's a matter of pride and anger for him that I've had a better childhood. He feels elite, almost, for his rough beginning. Better than me.

"A. They're on the opposite coast, hundreds of thousands of miles away from our family. B. I could never get in." I've told him all this already. Multiple times.

Dad grunts as he turns on the blinker. "Your mom can't keep you locked in her nest forever. And you probably could have, if you'd done more activities during high school. If you'd started out freshman year doing football, the colleges would be fighting over you. Piano is great, don't get me wrong, but it's been done before."

"And football hasn't?" He's making me angry, just the slightest bit, but enough that the car feels stifling suddenly, and I'm tempted to open the door and roll out onto the road.

"I'm just saying, sports would have spiced up your application. Good grades and a musical instrument aren't enough to stand out. I'm happy you're doing track this year, but it doesn't do much good for college admission." He switches the radio station from classical to country and it's enough to make me grind my teeth. He _knows _listening to classical music is good for me. I like to sit in silence and picture hands flitting over the keys, striking the cords that result in the beautiful melody that follows. The harsh crooning of country singers is like nails on a chalkboard for me. I've never liked it. He knows that.

"Can you really see me pulling on tight spandex and drawing black lines under my eyes as I prepare to pounce on the opposing team?" The thought is enough to make me chuckle deep down in my chest. "Besides, our football team sucks. It's all about volleyball and lacrosse at our school."

"Gay." He mumbles it under his breath, and I have to laugh at the irony of the joke. He couldn't tell his own wife was gay. How could he possibly judge a sport?

He turns into the deli parking lot with one hand on the steering wheel and the other scratching his stubble incessantly. We pull into the usual spot, my fingers clenched on the door handle. The sound of his nails on his skin combined with the man on the radio whining shrilly about lost love is painful on my eardrums and I have to grit my teeth to keep from snarking at him. I promised Mom no fights today.

I'm starting to hear things I never bothered to listen to before. I see things I'd never spare a second glance at before. I notice the hue of Lena's favorite shirt, or the make of Jude's only pair of jeans. Like I'm turning into Spiderman or something.

But it's not supernatural. It's Callie. Since that kiss, the second we've shared, my senses are alive and I can't turn them off. I can't turn anything off, not the ache for her, or the guilt when I see Jude, or the anger when Wyatt purposely bumps into me in the hallway. She fried my nerve endings and they won't die down. It's embedded in me, consuming me, and I feel actual, physical pain along with some of the emotions that overtake me. I've walked around in a trance, a haze of drugs and alcohol and boredom, and I'm waking up from that.

_I'm living in _Sleeping Beauty_, only the gender roles are reversed. _I have to laugh at that one. It's pretty fucking clever.

I've never felt the pain that comes with sitting in front of her in class, for forty minutes straight, and having to savor the air from her lungs as she huffs at a bad explanation by the teacher, or listen as she mutters incessantly under her breath during pop quizzes. During practice, there's the constant question of whether or not to run ahead and leave her behind, or nurse her wounded pride and slow my pace. When she's out of sight, when we're out in the forest, or the winding paved roads of San Diego, I can forget her presence behind me for a bit. It's like how she explained that she runs to escape her problems. She's my only real problem, or the part of me that loves her is my problem, and I can't outrun either for that long. At least she's able to outrun Liam.

But she doesn't really though, does she? He's always with her, I think. In her eyes, when the fear comes spiraling in. In her stance, when she leans away from the coach as he talks to her. In her hair, tangled from constantly whipping her head back and forth to scan her surroundings. It's so hard for me to understand even remotely what went on before she got here. Every time I think I've finally wrapped my head around it, the concept slips away, and I'm left with a heavy heart at the knowledge that I'll never be able to fully understand. I mean, unless Mom died, Lena went to jail, I was sent to a home where I was raped while Mariana or Jesus slept nearby, slut-shamed by one of them, and beaten by the next foster family. I don't fit in that scenario. Bad things don't happen to me.

"You want the usual or not?" Dad's waving his hand in front of my eyes. The God-awful music is finally off, and he's standing over me, the passenger door wide open. I take a moment to clear my head and give him a grin that's grotesque at best.

"Sure."

I follow him into the narrow little store, and take my seat by the back, near the windows. Since I was five, I've claimed the seat facing away from the onlookers. I hated strangers seeing me eat. It's a weird pet peeve that long gone, but the traditions remain the same. And with my dad, tradition is everything. Without our usual patterns, we're left with a flailing relationship and spotty conversation.

He comes to sit with me after ordering. In his hefty service belt and uniform, he looks too big for the flimsy little chairs they've had since I first came here as a toddler. It was here, actually, I found out about my parents' separation. Not my mom's coming out though. That was reserved for the privacy of our own home. She thought I'd throw a tantrum or call her a 'dyke' or worse. Parents are never schooled in how to tell their biological children that the union the child was conceived in wasn't genuine and the mother chases after the same gender as I did.

As I recall, I took the news very well. There was silence, and a long hug, and repeated 'I love you's.

Dad seems to be wracking his brain for a conversation starter. School and sports are sore subjects, and we've got nothing really to say once the normal pleasantries are out of the way. "How is everyone handling Lexi's leaving?"

"She didn't leave, Dad. She was deported." That's a sore subject as well, him being a member of the law enforcement. Mom didn't have the same problem, having actually known and loved the Rivera's. She couldn't outright say the government was wrong to send them away, but we all knew what she was thinking. Dad's another story. She was nothing to him. I muscle on. "Jesus is going back to school next week, and Mariana isn't around much. She's hanging out with new friends."

"What about Callie? Jude? How are you taking it?" It's amusing to me the tone he adopts. The divorce therapist had the very same manner of speaking, soft and slow. She talked down to me, and now my father is as well, and it's pissing me off. As is the mention of Callie and Jude. _Like he cares_. He's made minimal effort to get to know them, enough that my moms' friends praise him for his kindness to their adopted and fostered kids, but not enough to form an actual bond.

"They're dealing with it, same as me." The heightened emotions coursing through me are going to get me into trouble. "Do you really care?"

"Of course! Mom tells me you've grown close to the two off them. Especially Callie." My palm clenches into a fist on my thigh. "Are all your friends after her? She's really a pretty girl. I didn't think so at first, with all those bruises and cuts, but she cleans up. I wish my parents had fostered girls like that when I was your age." He laughs heartily, and I know he's just trying to relate to me and get some 'boy talk' going. He's not a pedophile, my dad. He sounds like it at the moment, but I know him well enough to tell he's searching for that bonding point where we can meet in the middle.

Unfortunately for him, Callie's looks were the wrong thing to try and share over. "Dad, I kind of want to eat in the car. We're running a little late for my lessons. Lets grab the food and go." I struggle to keep my voice even, and do a rather magnificent job at it. I'm getting better.

"If we leave now, we'll be fifteen minutes early!" Dad struggles to rise from the low seating as I make for the counter. "We have time to sit and eat."

I give him the look I reserve for Mom when she's in the mood for handing out condoms, and he sighs dramatically, shrugging. "Fine."


End file.
